


kleos

by FairweatherEden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A lot of soldiers really, Additional Tags But They'd Be Spoilers, Afghanistan, Army Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, DCBB, Depression, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Journalist Castiel, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Suicide, Ranger Dean, Sam Has a Dog, Soldier Benny, Soldier Dean, Solider Sam, Someone's dead to begin with, Tags Contain Spoilers, There may or may not be sex (winks), war zone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8377273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairweatherEden/pseuds/FairweatherEden
Summary: New York Times correspondent Castiel Novak has spent most of his adult life in combat zones. Immediately following his brother’s death, hope seems lost as he is embedded deep within Afghanistan with an elite unit of Army Rangers (the 401st Hunters) commanded by Major Dean Winchester. It’s not the warmest of welcomes, but as they head out on missions and share down time, things change.There is also an accompanying Spotify playlist. Please listen to it in order as you read. The chapter titles are the first song in each grouping.





	1. Long Road Out of Here (Juliette & The Licks)

**Author's Note:**

> I read a lot of war books and watched war movies/tv shows/documentaries in research for writing this. I also blatantly ripped off Michael Herr and Chris Hedges in a few places, but you should really go read their books “Dispatches” and “War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning” (respectively).
> 
> It's a war fic, so there's gonna be triggers.
> 
> I also want to thank my beta jesh14 and my artist, teyla, they are both awesome.  
> (Please note the art has a spoiler for the last chapter, so be warned.)
> 
> Lastly, I wrote this while on the subway with my thumbs on my phone. I’m pretty proud of that.

The sky was overcast, which was befitting the day's event. Castiel sat on the dewy grass and just stared silently. The earth had settled in the month since it was freshly tilled. It was too much for him to come when it was fresh, then again, he wasn't even in the country then.

  
_Gabriel Novak_  
_Beloved Son and Brother_ _  
_ What we'll see will defy explanation

  
Cas just stared at the headstone. It's cold and grey, the opposite of Gabriel's outgoing personality. It didn't fit... neither did the idea of him dying, though. It wasn't right; Gabriel’s complete absence was difficult and unnatural. Cas half-expected him to pop up and call it a prank any second, but that moment never came. His dark hair tousled further in the light breeze, and he pulled his tan trench coat a little tighter around him. It was both for warmth and the need to be engulfed by something, since Gabriel wasn't there to violate his personal space anymore.

Castiel breathed out as tears started to cloud his eyes. Even though he'd been abroad for most of the past decade, he was finding it hard to imagine a life without Gabe. He felt adrift sitting on the cold, hard ground.

Cas sighed. Everything hurt, physically and emotionally. Time passed, and then Cas finally spoke in a low murmuring voice, " _multas per gentes et multa per aequora vectus advenio has miseras frater ad inferias ut te postremo donarem munere mortis..._ "

"And speak in vain to silent ash." Castiel looked up at the woman who spoke the next line of the poem, albeit in English. "I do believe you wanted that recited at your grave, Castiel, because I can't recall Gabriel bring a big fan of Catallus and Roman poetry."  
  
The dark haired woman dropped next to Cas on the ground and handed him a bottle of Glenlivet 21, already opened and partially drunk. Cas grasped it without a word and took a long pull from the bottle. "True, though I'm not versed well enough in dirty limericks."

The immaculately dressed woman tipped her head back in a somewhat hollow laugh. "Yes, though Gabe would most likely preferred that, especially you fumbling through them." The smile played across her blood red lips, but not her eyes. It was a mask she had carefully constructed to hide behind, but Castiel could always tell. “Regardless, there's always ‘Willy Wonka’.” She said, nodding to the cold, grey stone before them.

Cas looked at the woman his brother had intended to marry, though she'd never accept the thing akin to pity in his gaze. Kali still wore the engagement ring gifted to her a week before his death. He took another sip of whiskey and sighed.

"He also would prefer you not blame yourself." She took the bottle back, and had a sip of the liquor. Castiel remained silent. "You have seen so much death, so many atrocities, and there is no reason to feel guilty over a death that neither your nor I could prevent... and I was there. If there is anyone to blame--"

"Don't." He interrupted her, "don't blame yourself, Kali."  
  
"If I can't blame me, then you can't blame you." She stated simply, "It was the act of a desperate man."  
  
Cas scoffed. "Muggers are not desperate men. I have seen desperation."  
  
"War is a different circumstance, and you know that. And there you are powerless to act. I know you think that you're impassive and immune, but you're not. Every life you watch end in the cruelest of ways hurts. This was different because it was your brother and the man I loved. There was no time to react. Gabe was stood next to me one minute, and dead the next. There was--" Kali choked back a sob, bringing a hand to her face.  
  
Cas shuffled closer and put his arm around her. Kali sobbed in her would have been brother-in-law's shoulder. Cas held her with the left, and took a drink with his right.  
  
They sat there, a light drizzle starting to rain down on them, until the bottle was empty.

 

* * *

 

Cas woke up the next morning in the guest room at Kali’s house -- well, it was Gabriel's as well at one point. Having given up on the idea of his own place years ago, anything he couldn't carry with him on assignment, fit in two boxes and garment bag in the closet in front of him. It was cheaper than a storage unit. Gabriel was used to housing his things, as well as his brother.

Cas shuffled his way to the bathroom for his morning routine: pee, brush, shower. He didn't feel any better, though he did smell better. He'd only been back a day, but already it felt like it was too long. Dressed in old jeans and a faded AC/DC shirt, Cas went down to the kitchen. Coffee was left in a carafe, as well as a few pastries, and a note from Kali.

 

_Cas-_

_Went to work. I'll be at the hospital for the next 48 hours._

_Please don't leave before I get back._

_-Kali_

 

Cas stared at the note. She knew him too well. He took a blueberry muffin, and poured himself some coffee.

Cas felt empty, to be honest. He had spent so much time working abroad that he never thought that it would take away from time with Gabriel. He didn’t realise how much he lost by seeing the worst of humanity, that the thing that truly hurt was the death of his own brother.

When they had gotten back to the house last night, Cas had sat on the edge of the tub at 1am holding a razor in one hand and a bottle of Xanax in the other. He stared at them for what seemed like hours. Cas felt numb, worse than when he had seen some of the most despicable atrocities.

As a reporter, he was never meant to interfere, and so it was as if he was entitled or above everything that he observed. There was a belief that the work he carried out was for the greater good -- the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one. Cas had spent hours watching footage executions by various police forces, he’s seen people starve to death with his own eyes, he’s witnessed a man being tortured until he passed out, he’s photographed mass graves with bodies of all ages and genders. None of them pierced his skin. With one death, though, all of this near righteous conviction came crumbling down. Somehow the familial bond and closeness he had with his brother made a crack in his patent stoicism, and now all of the horrors were seeping through.

Kali found him not too much later, both items had fallen to the floor by that time, and Cas was curled in a fetal position crying. She didn’t say a word, as she gathered him up, and walked him to bed. She crawled under the covers with him and held him until he fell asleep.

Cas was now sat on the sofa in the living room, his laptop nearby, as if last night had not happened. Despite the chinks in his armour, he could still dissociate just to get through the day. The television was turned on, a documentary on bees, playing quietly in the background. Cas took the few peaceful moments to enjoy his breakfast because as soon as 9am rolled around, his phone would most assuredly ring.

Three minutes later, his phone rang. The opening notes to Led Zeppelin’s _Gallows Pole_ played. Cas always thought it was hilarious, while everyone else thought it was morbid, but who else better to have that ringtone than his assignment editor.

“Hello, Balthazar.” Cas said dryly.

“Good morning, Cassie. How are you?” Balthazar Angeles was Castiel’s boss, for lack of a better term.

“I'm fine.” He responded, not really paying attention. As the main war correspondent for the New York Times, Cas had been sent all over the world to cover just about everything. His passport lacked space, despite there being well over 100 pages. He had numerous awards to his name, which were packed away in the boxes in the closet. And had survived numerous coups, warzones, and New York City. His body has been stabbed, shot, and beaten. Castiel was a virtual road map of the world.

“How long did she ground you for?” The Brit asked knowingly. Whenever Cas was stateside, his brother would beg him to stick around, Cas never made it more than two weeks before his skin would start crawling. Kali had now demanded the same courtesy.

“At least two days.” Cas said, sipping coffee. It was the one thing he did miss -- good coffee.

“Again, I'm sorry we couldn't find you sooner--” Balthazar started.

“Don't.” Cas said harshly. No one spoke for a minute.

“Your authorization came through from the Army, that's why I was calling.” His editor continued.

“You call everyday when I'm stateside.” Cas ate the last bite of muffin.

“True, but that's because I miss you terribly. You're my best friend, Cassie.” They had known one another since J-School at Mizzou. When Balthazar got the job at the NYT, though Cas never believed his story of the _ménage_ _à douze_ he participated in to get the position, Cas got an offer days later. Both knew it was due to the Missouri Mafia, but Balthazar always had a flare for the dramatic.

“You know I hate New York.” Cas had only lived there a little over a year and it was probably one of the worst periods of his life, which was saying something.

“Well, next time I can take a holiday, let’s make sure you're somewhere I can visit without a flak jacket.” Balthazar said half jokingly.

“So, Afghanistan then?” Cas asked going back to the original topic.

“Yes, I guess the General you saved ‘by accident’ came through on the favour. He knows it won't be babysitting duty. You'll get at least a month embedded, but you'll have privileges at the base for longer, not sure yet on that.” Four years ago, there was a close call in Northern Mali, and Cas happened to trip over a rock and took down the person closest to him. It happened to be a three star general who was about to be picked off by a sniper.

“I'll have to send General Singer a bottle of Blue Label, then.” Cas said, a hint of wryness in his tone.

“For that long? Better make it a case.” Cas nodded even though Balthazar couldn't see. He was thankful for this, as he knew that if he didn't have the distraction of an assignment, he would probably end up killing himself.

It's true that soldiers found it hard to adjust to civilian life, but for someone like Cas who has spent most of his adult life in war zones, he'd probably succumb to PTSD faster than breaking the land speed record.

Cas was a master of distraction, and he was grateful for this opportunity, though it might have not been apparent. Balthazar knew better, though. He ended the phone call with the necessary details, which would be emailed to Cas as well, and wished his best friend luck.

 

* * *

 

When Kali arrived back at the house, Cas had barely budged in the intervening days. She was a bit relieved to see him still here. Though Cas never stayed long, he was still a presence in Gabriel’s (and therefore Kali’s) life. The Novaks had no one other than themselves, everyone having died and left them. Due to these circumstances, they tended to live out of one another's pockets, even when Cas was out on assignment. He would write and call often, if he couldn't be there in person.

Cas was prone to running away from his personal problems, which is why he never stayed anywhere long. Gabriel knew this and understood. Kali knew all about their childhood, but never pitied them, as neither Novak would take kindly to such behaviour.

“What are we watching?” She said sitting down next to him.

“'How It's Made'. You missed the one on Champagne. This is a V6 engine.” Cas said quietly. He passed her the bag of sweet potato chips he was snacking on.

She took a handful with a smile, and snuggled closer to Cas. He lifted his arm to put around her, as she rested her head on his shoulder. Comfort in grief. They both silently savoured the moment as they knew it'd be brief. Cas didn't even have to say he was leaving, she already knew. It was only a matter of how soon at that point.

After all, Cas was a runner.


	2. Devils & Dust (Bruce Springsteen)

The C-12 Huron touched down at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan in the midday sun. Less than a week ago, Cas was on the couch with his would-be sister-in-law. She didn't argue, just packed him his usual overseas bribery kit (you wouldn't believe how far junk food could get you) and one of Gabriel's stretched out shirts that just fit Cas; it advertised the cereal Apple Jacks. He didn't want to take it, but she didn't give him a chance to protest.

He was escorted over to one of the larger buildings where Army intake was stationed. All Cas had was his standard rucksack, which he learned to pack light: clothes, laptop, portable battery, satellite phone, first aid kit, pocket knife, flashlight. He didn't need much else.

He was shepherded inside to see one of the ranking officers who would point him towards his assignment, a Brigadier General Turner, according to his paperwork.

The Lieutenant who escorted him knocked on the door. “Sir, I have a Castiel Novak here.”

“Yeah, yeah, send him in, Rudy.” He heard a gruff voice call out. The Lieutenant cleared the doorway, and Cas walked though. “So you must be the reporter that saved Bobby’s hide in Mali. Huh, don't know if I should thank you or throw you in the brig for that.”

Cas cocked his head to the side, “I would think talking that way of a superior officer would be tantamount to insubordination.”

The general laughed, “Ha! That old coot wouldn't dare try. Especially since he owes me too many favours, including one of his stars. Don't know why he let you cash in on yours, though. That's a new one.” He finally stood up and walked toward Cas, “Brigadier General Rufus Turner.”

Cas took the proffered hand, “Castiel Novak, New York Times.”

“Yeah, he told me all about ya.” Turner turned back and sat at the desk, gesturing to one of the empty seats on the other side. Cas took off his pack, and sat down. “He tell you where you're going?”

“Not exactly. I know I'll be embedded with a unit for roughly a month, possibly longer. Didn't say much more.” Cas said, looking through his papers for the letter from General Singer.

Turner nodded, “Well, son, you ain't gonna be kicking back here in Parwan Province, that's for sure.”

Cas's brow furrowed. “Sorry?”

Turner pulled out a folder from the top of a perilously stacked pile on his desk. “You're headed south. I can't tell you how many klicks because that's classified. So’s the name of the base, but it's nicknamed ‘The Bunker’. The Major in charge down there has a team of about twelve. They've been in-country a while. All are Rangers, so don't expect a warm and fuzzy reception. I've got a supply run headed down there, along with their 31K, who just got back a few days ago. The Colonel got injured, and needed evac.” Cas nodded, though confused. “The Lieutenant should be-” 

There was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

“Lieutenant Winchester, sir.” Rudy announced.

“Send him in.” Turner replied.

Cas turned around and saw one of the tallest men he'd ever seen. He was a bit scruffy and his hair definitely too long to be regulation, though the General didn't seem to care. Winchester smiled at Turner, and then noticed Castiel, he looked slightly confused. Cas was dressed casually for the field, but not in BDUs.

“Winchester, this here is a reporter from the Times. He's headed to the Bunker with you for the next month or so.” Turner said plainly, as if even saying it was a non-issue.

A mixture of confusion and apprehension crossed the soldier’s face. “Uh, Lieutenant Sam Winchester.” Cas took the outstretched hand and shook it firmly.

“Castiel Novak.” Cas said.

“Oh shit! Like  _ the _ Castiel Novak?! You won something like 5 Pulitzers. You're an amazing writer.” A boyish grin tugged across Sam’s face. It seemed to erase the somewhat battle-hardened facade from moments ago.

“Yes.” Was all Cas said in response.

Before Sam praised Cas’s work further, his expression halts like a car into a brick wall. “Wait, Dean never mentioned this… Rufus?”

Cas's eyebrows went up at the casual use of the General’s first name. “Yeah, about that. Bobby gave the order. Have fun telling Dean. I would, but it's nearly Sabbath, and I can't email him or anything, you know.” He said gruffly.

Cas was thoroughly confused by the blatant hesitance from a general in regard to this ‘Dean’ person. Sam shook his head with a bit of a smile, “So you two leave it to me?”

“Thanks for volunteering, Lieutenant.” Turner said with a smile.

Sam merely rolled his eyes.

 

* * *

 

After Turner handed off the orders, Cas grabbed his pack and followed Sam outside. Sat right near the door was an incredibly large German Shepard. He was tied up, but lounged as if he wouldn't dream of walking off. Once the dog sensed Sam, it sat up as if waiting for orders. “Hey, Colonel.” Sam rubbed the dog’s head. “This is Castiel. Friendly.” Sam turned to Cas. “This is The Colonel, my MWD. Let him sniff your hand.” Cas looked at the large man skeptically, but approached.

He had never encountered 31Ks or their canine charges before in combat. He knew that Military War Dogs were used extensively. Ancient Egyptians used dogs to carry messages. The Corinthians used them to surround their seaside citadels in 400 BC. The Romans had them to warn their garrisons. Attila the Hun used them to protect their camps in battle. They were first employed by the US Army in World War II, and scout dogs during Vietnam had a $20,000 bounty on their heads by the Vietcong. Suffice to say, war dogs were not animals to treat lightly.

“That's a good boy. He's been with me five years now.” Sam said smiling at the dog.

“Pardon me Lt. Winchester, but ‘Colonel’?” Cas asked.

Sam sighed, “Yeah, my brother thought it’d be hilarious that the dog would outrank me. He had a different name, but only responds to ‘Colonel’ now. Makes jokes about it all the time no matter how lame. Told me I had to salute him before we went for walks. Jerk.”

Cas suppressed a little laugh at the humour of the situation, “How long have you been a ranger, Lt. Winchester?” 

“It's Sam, and I joined when I was twenty two. I hadn't planned on it, but hey, shit happens.” Sam said untying Colonel.

Cas nodded. He could tell the restrained pain in Sam’s voice. He recognized it his own from time to time. “I understand.” Cas said simply. Sam gave him a tight smile, the former light mood all but killed.

 

* * *

 

They'd been on the road for about an hour. The convoy to “The Bunker” consisted of two trucks. One was stacked with supplies, the other held Cas, Sam, and the Colonel. 

Empty roads of dirt, dust, and debris lay ahead. Cas had been in-country before, so Afghanistan was nothing new - none of the Middle East was unfamiliar, to be honest. This, though, was seemingly the middle of nowhere, so when they approached a set of ruins near a collection of hills, Cas quirked an eyebrow.

The convoy stopped and everyone got out. Goods were unloaded and taken inside what looked like the ruins of an old church or mosque. Cas followed the men. He offered to carry some of the supplies, and Sam specifically handed him a crate filled with what looked like various different “fresh” and frozen pies. Cas didn't say anything, but Sam said that it'd help.

They walked over to what appeared to be a crypt door. Sam brushed aside some dirt and opened a small hatch containing a keypad. He entered a code and the door below them slid open to reveal a staircase.

“Home sweet home.” Sam said with a small smile.

The stairwell was dimly lit as he followed the man and his canine companion, and the bounty-laden servicemen. Once they reached the bottom, another door (with another keypad), was opened.

“The Bunker was found a few years ago, we think it's a Cold War hold over that was lost, based on the records we found down here. We spruced it up, added new locks, and now it's a top secret base. Only a few people know it's here. Ed and Harry,” he nods to the servicemen dragging goods from the convoy, “and Rudy, who you met earlier, are the only people on base besides Turner who knows it’s location.”

“Most think it's a myth or something, but it's pretty cool.” Ed said stacking toilet rolls. The two men worked quickly and efficiently getting everything over to the interior hallway.

Sam unclipped Colonel from his lead, and the dog promptly ran down the hall. A bear of a man turned the corner, and nearly ran into the canine. He looked up and smiled as the dog ran past into the bunker.

“Sam!” He then yelled over his shoulder, “Supplies!” The large man walked forward. He had a beard and wore an old style fisherman’s hat. Cas was a bit confused.

Sam looked at the approaching soldier, “Benny, this is--”

Sam was interrupted by a shout from a person first heard then seen, “Sammy!”

Cas looked past Benny, and his throat seemed to catch.

The man had a military haircut that seemed to have grown out a bit, as well as some decent scruff that given a few more weeks, would be a beard. He was in BDU pants, but a plain olive t-shirt that hugged his torso almost sinfully. He had a smile on his face, which was directed at Sam.

“You better not’ve forgotten the pie!” His voice was rough and deep, and Cas felt like he could sink into it.

Cas never cared about the gender of those he found attractive, granted the numbers of those were few and far between, even more so in the past few years. In fact, Cas couldn't even recall a) the last person he slept with or when and b) the last time someone affected him so quickly or intensely. Were he to hazard a guess for the latter, it'd probably be never.

“‘Course not, Dean.” Sam gestured to Cas. And that's when the freckled man turned his deep green gaze to Cas.

_ Well, shit.  _ Cas thought.

A look of confusion crossed Dean’s face. “Who the fuck are you?”

Cas shifted the crate of pie in his hand and held it out to Dean. “Castiel Novak. I’m a reporter with the New York Times, General Singer--”

Dean just looked at Cas’s extended hand, and at the mention of the general, he exploded. “Bobby sent you here? It's supposed to be a fucking secret! What the fuck was he thinking?! I'm going to call that crazy old man… Sonovabitch!” Dean turned on his heel and stormed off, swearing the entire way.

Everyone was silent for a moment.

“Guess the pie didn't work.” Cas said flatly. Both Benny and Sam laughed loudly at the remark. Sam clapped a hand on Cas's shoulder.

“He’ll calm down… Eventually.” Sam said with a half smile meant to be comforting. Cas simply nodded. “Benny, Castiel. Castiel, this is Captain Benjamin LaFitte.”

Cas offered the forgotten hand to the captain. “Nice to meet you.”

“Reporter, huh?” He said taking it cautiously.

“With strict guidelines, so as not to compromise security, yes.” Cas replied. Benny seemed to accept the response, and gave a tight lipped smile.

“And Bobby sent you, it works for me.” He said in a soft Cajun accent.

“We’re all done here, sirs.” Harry said, Ed presumably returned to the trucks.

“Thanks, guys. See you in a few weeks.” Sam said, as the two servicemen head out. The door sealed shut behind them, completely airlocked.

Cas looked back at the two men standing with him, as The Colonel barked from somewhere in the complex. “Guess we’ll give you the grand tour, then.” Sam said with a lopsided smile.


	3. Joker and the Thief (Wolfmother)

To say The Bunker is a massive subterranean labyrinth is putting it mildly. There were rooms for everything, connected by innocuous hallways that all looked the same. The only clue that it wasn’t one giant looped series of corridors was that the room numbers were different.

Benny had taken care of the supplies, which meant Sam was left with giving Cas the tour. The overeagerness of the giant Lieutenant was apparent.

“Yeah, so there's an opening from some hills just out back that has the doors. It's truly like a superhero base or something. Dean calls it the Batcave.” Sam said as they left the garage and headed back towards the living quarters. 

Cas had seen labs, the motor pool, the mess, the library, armory, shooting range, and countless other areas used for a vast array of things. It was overwhelming, to say the least. He couldn't believe that the US military actually repurposed and established such a high tech base, if he hadn't spent the last hour or so being guided through it.

“And over here is where you'll be staying.” Sam said opening a door marked “13”.

“I hope you're not superstitious.” He said nodding to the room number.

“No, I'm not. Coincidently, the number 13 looks remarkably like the first letter in my name if you were to write it in Enochian.” Cas said looking at the room. It was sparsely furnished: double bed, desk, chair, wardrobe, dresser. It was nicer than a lot of other places that Cas stayed.

“Enochian?” Sam asked.

“The language of the Angels. I was named for one. Religious family and all.” Cas said glancing at Sam, as he tossed his gear on the bed. He also noticed a poster on the wall above the bed that made his lip quirk. It was a vintage style travel poster, but for Hoth.  _ Someone had a sense of humor _ , he thought.

Sam just nods. “Cool.”

 

* * *

 

Sam gave Cas a chance to wash up, and left him with directions to the Common Room, as it’s where the men usually congregated on their off time. Cas surprised himself when he doesn't get lost.

The door was painted with the word ‘Swamp’, the red and white letters playing homage to the tv show,  _ M*A*S*H _ . Cas smiled at their sense of humor, but doubted the inclusion of a homemade still inside. When he finally entered the room, it's filled with about a dozen men.

Sam was sat on the couch with a game controller in front of a large flat screen, Colonel was sat at his feet. There were three others playing the game with him: a short Asian kid he met earlier in one of the labs, Kevin Tran, who was also a martial arts expert of some sort, in addition to his position as communications officer; a light-skinned African-American guy with close-cropped hair; and another guy who could be comparable to a beanpole with a goofy grin. Cas recognized the game as “Mario Kart”.

“Get off it, Ennis! Your damned Yoshi is crowding again!” Kevin said. The African-American guy, Ennis, just grinned, and bumped Kevin’s Toad off the bridge.

Sat at the table, in what seemed like a heated poker game was Benny; a guy in a mullet, with the sleeves ripped off a BDU shirt; Cesar Cuevas, who was part of the armory, whom he met earlier; and Victor Henriksen, the other armory officer. They laughed and chatted, as they threw poker chips and slips of paper, obviously favours or tasks, into the centre pot.

An older gentleman, though no less imposing, sat going over what looked like a map of North America with post-it's and tags all over it. “Look, Lee, you can't stop for just two days in Yellowstone. It's not enough time.”

The shorter man next to him shook his head, “I don't know how long Krissy is gonna want to camp for, Deacon. She's already gonna be cooped up in the car for a few hours, and tents aren't really her thing.” Lee said.

“You can rent cabins.” Deacon responded. “Ain't that right, Isaac?”

The African-American man reading Stephen King in a corner club chair looked up as his name was called. “Sure thing, Tamara and I did it last summer.

To Cas, they looked like a family.

Sam looked up as Ennis celebrated his victory. “Hey, Castiel!” The rest of the room turned as well. Intimidating would be an apt description. The dog, funnily enough, seemed to be the only one not to look, as he was asleep.

Sam stood up, dropping the controller on the couch, and walked over to the journalist. “Guys, this is Castiel Novak. Castiel, you've met some of the guys already, but this is Ennis Ross, and Garth Fitzgerald. Over there in the corner is Isaac Macon, and pouring over a summer road trip is Lee Chambers and Deacon Sanford. At the table is Ash Harvelle. Dean is currently… busy.”

“Yellin’ at Bobby, most like.” Ash, formerly mullet guy, said with a laugh.

Everyone said their hellos, and went back to what they were doing before Sam spoke up.

“Okay, I'm out.” Benny said, collecting what IOUs he had. “Isaac, you're up. Win me back some of those Girl Scout cookies, would ya?” There was some groaning, and laughing, but none of the guys seemed to mind.

“Fat chance.” Isaac said, dropping his book on the side table. “You still owe me for the Hob Nobs Tamara sent last time.”

Benny just smiled and walked over to Cas, “You hungry?”

Cas nodded, “A bit.”

Benny clapped him on the shoulder and led him out of the common room and towards the mess. Once in the hallway, he dropped his hand and cleared his throat slightly, “Don't worry ‘bout Dean.” Benny said offhandedly, “He’ll come around.”

Cas nodded. 

“He just don't like things changin’, he'll get used to ya. Ain't nobody here who wouldn't lay down their lives for him or vice versa. He’ll come around. And, Hell, Bobby sent ya, so that right there's already in your corner.”

Cas’s brow furrowed. “Why would General Singer--”

“For lack of a better term, though it ain't my story to tell, Bobby - General Singer-  is like his dad.” He said with a smile. “So, roast beef or turkey?” Benny asked as they walked into the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck, Bobby?!” Dean yelled at the screen. A gruff looking man looked back at him, thoroughly unamused. “I mean what the actual fuck?! You send a fucking reporter to a SECRET military installation?! Emphasis on the word secret!” Dean was huffing and wild eyed at this point.

Bobby leaned back from the screen and looked at the Major. “He's good people, Dean, and don't get your panties in a twist. He ain't using names or locations or anything. We need some good press right now, and this'll show the good you jackasses are doing.”

“We don't celebrate our victories, Bobby. They're private and safer that way.” Dean said crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“Well the brass higher up don't see it that way.” Bobby said.

“There are like two people higher than you on the totem pole, Bobby, so I know that's bullshit.” 

“Look, Major.” Yeah, Bobby was now getting angry. “He is a guest of the US Military, and you will treat him with respect. He's there for as long as I say he's there, and that's final. That register in that thick skull of yours, boy?”

Dean stared at him for a minute, then sighed. “Yes, sir.”

Bobby nodded. “Good, and tell Ash to call his mom. Ellen’s been missing him.”

“Sure thing, Bobby.” The connection ended.

Dean stared at the black monitor for what seemed like hours, but was only a few seconds. He had to go make nice with the fucking journalist, fine, but it didn't mean he was gonna get chummy with the guy.

What kinda name was Castiel Novak, anyway?

 

* * *

 

After having a sandwich with Benny, Cas retired back to his quarters. He didn't unpack yet, just pulled out clothes and shower stuff. He never really lived anywhere long enough to fully unpack, Gabe’s being the exception, but that was always short lived.

He set his bags aside, still packed, and pulled over his laptop. Ash had showed up in the kitchen halfway through the turkey club Benny had made and asked about his hardware needs. Ash was the computer expert on the team. His ripped BDU shirt had “Dr. Bad-Ass” scrawled on it in thick black Sharpie.

Ash walked with Cas back to 13, where he promptly asked the journalist to hand over the laptop. 

“It's password protected.” Cas said.

Ash turned the screen to show him, “Your security is crap. And who’s the little dude and the hot chick?” He had hacked into Cas’s computer like it was nothing. The desktop photo to which he was referring to was from a few years ago, Cas, Gabe, and Kali were celebrating some award Cas had won. He didn't remember which one, just the ridiculous amount of Purple Nurples Gabe had ordered, and how he talked his way out of being arrested for trying to climb The Bean… naked. The award was probably in one of the boxes in the closet, for all Cas knew or cared.

“My brother and his fiancé.” Ash nodded. It was another 10 minutes of clicking the keys until the mulleted wunderkind returned the laptop. 

“There ya go, kemosabe. Now you're properly secure, untraceable, have satellite wifi connection anywhere, and free Netflix.” Ash smiled.

“Yes, because not missing an episode of ‘Orange is the New Black’ is vitally important.” Cas said dryly, though he was both mesmerized and grateful.

“Don't you know it. That Stella is smokin’.” And with that comment, Ash had left.

Cas now sat alone with his cleverly modified computer. He started with checking his emails first when a knock came from his door.

“Come in.” He called, deleting an invite to some stupid luncheon that he wouldn't attend even if he were in town.

The door slowly opened to reveal Dean Winchester. Cas had still not looked up to see his guest.

Dean cleared his throat, which made Cas finally turn.

“Hello, Major Winchester.” Cas said coolly, as he set the computer aside and stood.

“Dean.” He said gruffly.  _ Might as well throw the guy one bone, ya know, for Bobby _ , he thought.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas walked over and held out his hand, “Castiel Novak.” Dean took it. “I apologize for the disruption to your unit. General Singer had assured me everything would be fine. I have no plans on compromising the secrecy or security of this facility or your unit. I'm honestly not even sure on the angle of the piece as of yet, and plan on discussing it with both you and the general when I've come to a conclusion.”

Dean just stared at him. “Uh, yeah.” Dean responded articulately. He cleared his throat. “I guess if Bobby says it's fine, I ain't got no choice. But don't get in our way. While you're here, listen up. I know you get to ride along, but if I tell you, or any of the guys for that matter, to stay put, you do. I can't have you getting shot or something. The paperwork is a bitch.”

Cas nodded at Dean. “Of course, I’d hate to cause you any problems, especially in triplicate.” 

Dean looked at the guy again, and refused to react to the dry humor. Dean wanted to be all kinds of pissed, so he crosses his arms over his chest. “Exactly.”

“You needn't be so gruff, Dean. I am just following orders from my editor and General Singer. I'm not in the Army and I don't serve you.” Cas didn't appreciate Dean's attitude and was feeling a bit indignant. “I won't intrude on your missions, as l am here to simply write.” Yeah, Cas was pissed.

Dean stared at the man and sucked his teeth. “Sorry this ain't all sunshine and rainbows, but we’re in the middle of a combat zone. I don't know who you fucked to get here, buddy, but you're going to do what I say regardless because I am not letting a civilian get any of my men killed. Fuck knows what shit I'll be in if you even get your damned toe stubbed.” Let no one say that Dean couldn't give as much as he got. He's a soldier and not going to let some douchebag reporter fuck things up, regardless of the sex hair.

Castiel's blue eyes burned in fury. “Don't worry,  _ Dean. _ I'm quite capable even though I've never earned a uniform. Now if you'll excuse yourself, I'd like to get some rest. Goodnight, Major.” He stared at Dean, who stared back. They stood there for a moment until a noise in the distance shook them out of whatever thing was going on between them.

“Yeah, night Cas.” Dean shortened his name to irk the man, and considering the minor twitch near those blue eyes, he seemed to have succeeded.

He slammed the door to his room, which happened to be right across the hall from Dean’s.  _ Dammit Sammy. _ Because he knew how much of a little bitch that Sasquatch was. Too late now.

Dean was pissed, royally. He stewed and thought about the man he's met for all of 20 seconds as he stood in front of the closed door. Okay, a bit more than 20 seconds, but still a very short time regardless. He couldn't be in the same room as Cas anymore for a myriad of reasons, and it looked like Cas had a few of his own. How it devolved so quickly, he had no fucking clue.

Dean took the few meager steps to his room and closed the door behind himself. He sighed and leaned against the door, tipping his head back on the solid wood.  _ Why does all this shit have to happen?  _ He wanted the guy to be a dick, it'd make things easier, but such things never go as planned.

Castiel was weird and dorky, yes. He spoke with a formal air, but not an impolite one… Well, not until Dean pushed him. It threw Dean off, that's for sure. Never a fan of journalists, Cas was an entirely new breed. Dean honestly didn't know what to make of the guy, but his downstairs brain sure did. 

Nearly twenty-five months in country with a group of guys you consider family (especially since one of them is blood related), and only your right hand as company was not a good situation for Dean. And now in walked a wet dream that Dean doesn't exactly hate, but doesn't exactly like.  _ Fuck. _

This will not end well.


	4. No One Knows (Queens of the Stone Age)

It'd been a few days of bunker life for Cas. There were no windows; no semblance of time save for the clock on the nightstand. So when Castiel woke, it was mildly disorientating, though not wholly uncomfortable.

Never a morning person, he had learned to adapt over the years. Coffee was once his go to, but after being stranded in Uganda for a week, he'd learned to cope without it. Running was always a second choice, but that time in Vietnam made him wary. So instead, it was 15 minutes of meditation and yoga. Gabriel used to make fun of him  _ ad nauseum _ , but it was what worked.

So when Dean knocked on his door 5 minutes later to find Cas in a feathered peacock pose in the middle of the room, he was surprised to say the least.

“Uh.” Was Dean’s eloquent greeting.

Cas glanced up at Dean briefly, before elegantly collapsing into a position more conducive to conversation. “Hello Dean.” Cas stood up and walked towards the flummoxed man in his doorway. 

After Dean had left that first night, Cas berated himself for his attitude. He didn't know why he had gone off on Dean so much, and concluded it had to do with Gabriel's death. That there was some misplaced anger that he held onto that was channeled towards Dean; a man who seemed nice enough, who was just doing his job. Castiel resolved to treat him better from then on. That was, when Dean wasn't avoiding him.

Dean cleared his throat. “Just wanted to let you know chow’s on. Then we've a briefing after. We've been assigned a mission.” Dean switched into his soldier role, where he felt more comfortable. “Should be a cakewalk.” He smiled and left with a quick grin.

Cas tilted his head to the side and stared after Dean for a moment. Cas didn't really know what to make of the Major. One minute he seemed open and happy, the next closed off and hostile. Granted, the former was that brief moment when he first arrived before Dean met Cas, but the overall picture he's trying to paint of the man is inconsistent. He seemed embarrassed when he first entered the room, but then cocky the next. It was confusing, to say the least. 

Cas tried to put these thoughts out of his head, as he pulled out some jeans from his rucksack. It's then that Cas realized he was shirtless and in his black boxer briefs the entire time he spoke to Dean this morning.

_ Well, shit. _

 

* * *

 

Dean somehow was able to get out of that situation without anything becoming inappropriate.  _ What the ever loving fuck?! _ He thought to himself.

He didn't know what was going on right now. This guy was a mindfuck, that's for sure. Dean headed to the kitchen with a sigh. 

He'd been in the service since he was 18. Constant deployment and training wasn't conducive to relationships, let alone a roll in the hay with a random girl or guy. He'd been in country 2 years (which was forced abstinence), and before that, he had a bendy weekend with some yoga teacher when he was doing some maneuvers at Fort Custer outside of Battle Creek, Michigan. Hell, the last guy he slept with must have been nearly a decade ago. Suffice to say, Dean’s sexual and romantic lives were shit. Then in walks nearly six feet of scruffy sex on two legs.

Yeah, Dean was fucked… and not in a good way.

The only saving grace was that the guy seemed like a dick. That and he wasn't about to fuck up his job for a quick roll in the hay, no matter how good the guy looked. Hence, the avoidance as much as possible… didn't mean he couldn't look though.

With this reasoning, Dean was able to enter the kitchen with new resolve. 

 

* * *

 

Breakfast was full of the same old camaraderie. Sam seemed to have taken an almost fangirl shine to Castiel. Dean did his best to ignore it. 

He walked over to the stove and helped himself to the pancakes that Cesar was plating. Colonel stuck close to whomever was cooking, always hoping for some scraps, but no one ever seemed to oblige, much to the dog's dismay. They were lucky enough to be well stocked, and never having to resort to MREs unless absolutely necessary. Most everyone took turns in the kitchen, save for Sam who couldn't cook to save his life, so he was on extra dish duties. A rota between a dozen guys to get “housework” sorted was necessary and ridiculously useful.

Ennis nodded to Dean as he sat next to him at the table. It was family-style seating with a long table and stools attached. “You finish ‘Goodbye Mr. Rosewater yet?” Dean asked. Dean had lent the guy one of his Vonnegut books. He was probably the youngest member of the team, next to Kevin, but he was damn good.

Ennis Ross was the team’s scout, and knew every inch of the Middle East like it was a Monopoly board. He was a good guy, having been with the team just over a year now. They started talking about the reports that got sent to them by Turner for a small scouting trip today, when laughter interrupted them from the other side of the table. 

Cas had his head tilted back, a deep throaty laugh coming from his mouth. Dean was staring. “And then,” Victor said, “we told him for the next three weeks that when he’d go to sleep, we're going to eat the fucking cookie.”

Garth then smiled and pulled out his phone. “This is the cookie, by the way. Bess bakes the best chocolate cherry you've ever had.”

Cas laughs again. “Did you ever eat it?” 

“Yup, when I got back stateside. I got a new batch. This time it's a snicker doodle.” Garth said with a smile.

“That's one of the best superstitions I've heard from a soldier, and probably my favourite to date.” Cas said, finishing up his coffee. 

The guys seemed to have warmed to Cas already, which made Dean frown. It wasn't supposed to be like this, they were supposed to be as pissed as he was, not laughing with him. It was a bit hypocritical of Dean, though, since deep down he wanted to be the one on the receiving end of one of those smiles.

He shook his head minutely to clear any thoughts like that. “All right, if you ladies are done gossiping, briefing starts in 10.” Dean said with no preamble and not even a glance in Castiel's direction as he got up from the table.

 

* * *

 

They filed into the briefing room, taking their usual seats. Cas took one in the back. As Dean’s squad was somewhat specialist, they tended to only be called when necessary. It wasn't as often as other Rangers, but it was often enough.

“There's chatter about build up in the Northern Region near the borders of Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan. Sources are pointing to a rebel terrorist group that seems to have no qualms taking anybody from either side. People, weapons, and supplies are disappearing. So, that’s our AO right now. Benny?” Dean sat, and handed the floor to his second-in-command. Benny and Dean had been in boot camp together, they were stationed separately after their first deployment, but became inseparable after a stint in Iraq they had nicknamed ‘Purgatory’. They made a good team. Dean was even Benny's best man when he married his girlfriend Andrea a few years back.

“Reports out of the south say that Fahhas was the last village hit. There was an old Soviet cache there that was being used by villagers to defend the area. It was a good vantage considering it’s near one of the only roads to Manzari Sharif that hasn't been mined with IEDs. The Army also had some engineers there rebuilding the irrigation system a few months back. We are going to take a few guys up through the area. Ross, Sam, Vic, and Garth are going to go with Dean. Deacon, Lee, Kevin, and Cesar are with me for search and clear. The rest are here monitoring. It's a simple scout mission, and road test, to make sure that it's still clear. We're also going to help evac the villagers west to Mahabba. Negations have already been set with village elders. We want to make sure that everyone stays safe, and Fahhas isn’t one of those places anymore.” 

Dean stood and clapped Benny on the back, “Thanks, man. We gear up and leave in twenty. I want two APCs and a gun truck. Dismissed.”

The soldiers disperse to the their respective duties, as Cas walked toward the front of the room. Dean and Benny were going over some last details with Ross as Cas approached them. Sam stopped for a bit, catching Benny's eye, the later nodded imperceptibly. Sam glanced at Dean and Cas, then back to Benny one last time before leaving.

“Pardon me, Ma--” Cas started to say, but was interrupted.

“Yes, Novak.” Dean said glancing up. Benny and Ross exchanged looks, but don't comment on their CO’s tone or choice of words.

“As it seems like a mostly safe mission--” Dean cut him off again, this time with a sigh.

“Well that's all relative, ain't it Sean Flynn?” Dean paused for a breath as Cas's eyes narrowed. “You can go with Benny, but stay back and don't get in the way.” Dean said coolly. “I'm going to grab my gear.” He said to the two remaining soldiers. They nodded in return, as Dean pushed past Cas.

Castiel’s eyes were glued to the man’s retreating back as he left the room.

“Wow.” Ross said, “did you steal his copy of ‘Slaughterhouse Five’ and dog ear the pages or something?”

“He likes Vonnegut?” Cas asked.

“Ennis, go pack your gear. Now.” The guy nodded at Benny, realizing he'd overstepped, and left.

Benny waited until the door shut, then turned to Cas. “I'll talk to him.”

“Captain.” Cas started.

“Benny.” He said, reminding Cas he needn't be so formal, which is a habit Cas falls back into when he's frustrated or awkward. Sadly, there'd been a lot of that lately, yet only around Dean.

“Don't worry about it, Castiel.” The Cajun offered him a smile before leaving.

_ Great.  _ Cas thought.

 

* * *

 

Benny walked into Dean’s room without knocking. “You should be packing.” Dean said without looking up.

“You told me we were going out yesterday, I packed yesterday.” Benny said, closing the door behind him. “You gotta lay off, Dean. He's not a bad guy.”

“Benny.” Dean almost growled.

“Now I know you don't like the idea of a civilian around, let alone a reporter, but he ain't no greenhorn. He's been around the block a few times. He's even a decent shot, by the way.” Benny said with a half smile.

“What?!” Dean looked up.

“Cesar took him to the range with a few of the guys the other day.” Benny said with a shrug. “What I'm saying, is ease up a bit. I know you haven't talked much and I don't expect you to be BFFs, but give the guy an actual chance. No one else here's got a problem, but you. I'm not the only one to notice, but the guys take cues from you, and I don't want your--” he gestured at Dean abstractly “--whatever issue getting to them. Bobby played the guy, that alone should be enough.”

Dean stopped checking his bag and looked at Benny. “So you're my Jiminy Cricket today, huh?”

“Me and Sam flipped for it. We were going to make a schedule, but we kept arguing over who took Christmas and Thanksgiving.” Benny said with a grin.

“You're hilarious.” Dean says flatly.

“Hey,” Benny put his hands up, “Sam’ll be glad to give you the same lecture, but I doubt that it's one you want to have with him.” 

Dean’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Benny mades for the door, but turned back before he opened it. “Because I didn't tell him that I caught you checking out Castiel's ass the other day.” And with that, Benny left.

Dean stood there in shock.

_ Awesome _ . 

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, the relation was fairly simple and straightforward. Most of the residents of Fahhas had already cleared out, only about twenty had remained.

Winning the hearts and minds was part of the mission of the Army Rangers, and the team had seemed to accomplish that without much effort. In addition to moving the few people, they also dropped off supplies that were earmarked for them as well. 

Cas didn't say much, but simply watched. Victor had outfitted him with Kevlar over his civvies, as well as a helmet. He didn't look like a soldier, but he tended to carry himself like one when they were out. Dean noticed.

Suffice to say, they were in and out in under eight hours, which was good by most standards, considering the distance they covered.

“Castiel?” Benny said, turning from the passenger seat to look at the reporter in the back.

“Yes?” Cas asked, looking up from his notebook.

“Who’s Sean Flynn? Dean called--” The Cajun referencing the name use from hours ago.

“He was a photojournalist during the Vietnam War. He was amongst a group of similarly, for lack of a better word, reckless reporters who did whatever they could for a good shot. He went missing on Highway 1 in 1970 and was never found. The insinuation was that I possessed a similar mentally.” Cas said evenly.

No one spoke again until they got back to the Bunker.

 

* * *

 

Dean sat in the front of the briefing room after everyone had left. Things had gone smoothly. Cas, to his word, didn't interfere. He watched and took a few photos and notes; unobtrusive to the letter.

There was a moment when he removed his sunglasses and the sun glinted off his eyes that Dean found it hard to breathe.  _ Fuck. I am not turning into a fucking Disney Princess. _

The watching, though, continued. Only Benny had noticed as far as he knew, and beyond the one comment about Cas's ass, he hadn't brought it up again.  _ Thank God. _

 

* * *

 

Cas had spent the first week acclimating to the Bunker, he had been asked a multitude of questions from everyone -- save Dean. He had also learned about the other men stationed there, all except Dean.

He had to admit that he was somewhat curious about the Major, but not enough to talk to him outright. Somehow, though, everyone seemed to fill this void without even asking.

He just asked the soldiers about memories that had stood out since they were assigned to this Cold War relic. It started with Kevin.

The Comms officer handed Cas a bottle of water from the fridge, and grabbed one for himself. “You know, a few tours ago, there was this guy, most annoying asshole ever, Crowley. He'd give everyone shit, especially me.” He took a sip. “We were stuck down outside of Kabul, and couldn't move. He got hit. Crowley kept saying ‘I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die.’ Dean turned to him and said, ‘Crowley, you ain't hurt that bad. I want you to just shut the fuck up. You ain't done a thing but bitch since you got assigned here.’ Dean was right, guy was just grazed, if he didn't keep quiet at that moment, the three of us would of been picked off by the patrol that walked by a minute later.”

Cas quietly processed this, rolling the unopened bottle in his hands.

“He's cranky and a jerk sometimes, but he always means well.” Kevin shrugged, and left Cas in the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Garth laughed as he shared one of the last few cookies Bess had sent, oatmeal raisin, with Cas. “You'd think he'd be the kinda guy to have something like ‘Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death I shall fear no Evil because I'm the meanest morherfucker in the Valley’, but he's not. Don't get me wrong, he could start a fight in an empty house, but deep down inside, he's just a big ol' Teddy bear.” He gave Cas a goofy grin. “Sam can be a bit insecure at times, but with good reason. The Winchesters are a package deal. In fact, we all kinda are. Dean always says that ‘family don't end in blood’. He got that from the General.”

 

* * *

 

“Look, Castiel,” Deacon said, settling on the sofa next to the reporter. “I’m a legacy. Everyone in my family has served going back to probably the Revolutionary War. I’ve heard enough stories growing up to know what’s what. One thing, more that anything else, is that none of us here are fighting for home, for the flag, for all that crap the politicians feed the public. We fight for each other, just for each other, and no one takes that to heart more than Dean.” Cas tilts his head at the mention of Dean’s name.

“A few years ago, I got clipped by an RPG in a huey. Dean, who is the bravest motherfucker I know, is scared shitless of flying, was in there with me. I needed to get the shrapnel off the side, just so we’d stop spinning. He clipped himself to the overhead bar at the door and climbed out to clear it. I’ve never seen something so stupid and heroic at the same time.” Deacon said with a warm smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

It was only Ash who broke the mold, though Cas was fairly certain that was a standard occurrence.

“How long have you been in-country, Ash?” Cas asked.

The guy had lifted his head, as that question could not be serious. Cas could see the weight in his face and Ash answered slowly. “All fucking day.” He gave the reporter an almost manic grin.


	5. Show Me How To Live (Audioslave)

“The town of Hudid was hit. No one was taken, just supplies raided that were dropped off by the 502. What we do have, is some new intel.” Dean said, pulling up images on the screen. “We don't have sat footage in the area, but we got a few descriptions from locals and a few grainy photographs of vehicles. The group that was at Hudid was a hodgepodge -- a few different races and languages. We're not sure of the connection, but it looks like we've got our own 10 Rings to deal with.”

“I see you more as Captain America than Iron Man.” Sam said, with a grin, as he pet Colonel’s head.

“Thanks for the demotion, bitch.” Dean called out to his brother.

“Jerk.” Sam responded.

“Anyway.. We are heading out for a routine scout and resupply. Should be in and out in six hours. Same teams and equipment as Fahhas. Ross, Sam, Vic, and Garth are going to go with me. Deacon, Lee, Kevin, and Cesar are with Benny. Gear up and be in the garage in an hour. The rest of you can help stock the trucks. Dismissed.”

Cas waited again until everyone cleared out. Dean heard him approach, but didn't look up. “Get your stuff, Kent. You're with my team this time.”

Cas tilted his head. “Mixing comic book references.”

Dean looked up, “Well, I always preferred Batman anyway.” He said with a small grin, and left Cas standing there unsure of what just happened.

 

* * *

 

It was spiking on the temperature gauge, but nothing that they hadn't experienced before, neither was the endless miles of desert. Signs of life dotted the landscape as the trucks rode past. They were about 5 minutes to Hudid, close enough to see its profile in the distance when the first hit came from nowhere. 

The bomb blew ahead of the convoy, stopping it in its tracks. They tried to swerve, to keep moving because staying still was not an option.

Dean was shouting orders to Sam, who was driving the Hummer with him and Cas. He had the radio in his hand, as well, for relay to the other vehicles.

There was a second blast, this one hit the truck the three of them were in.

 

* * *

 

Gunfire could be heard in the distance when Cas came to. The vehicle was on its side, and the elder Winchester hung limply over the front console, while Sam was gone.

“Dean. Sam.” Cas croaked. No response.

He crawled forward towards Dean. There was a gash over his eye steadily seeping blood, but he was breathing. It didn't look like there was anything else bleeding or injured.

Cas climbed over and dragged Dean through the blown out windshield. The unconscious man grunted as he was pulled from the vehicle. Cas took that as a good sign.

When he was clear, he saw Sam sprawled out a few feet away. Colonel sat next to Sam whining, and nudging his limp body with his nose. The dog was completely unharmed, thankfully. Cas made his way over to the younger brother, staying as low as possible.

The other vehicles were intact and engaging with some unseen enemy in a firefight.

Sam was laying in a pool of blood when Cas arrived. “Fuck.” He couldn't call for a medic as they were too far and he also didn't want to call attention to his position. He checked Sam over gingerly and quickly, and thanking Balthazar silently for making him take an EMT certification course a few years ago. At least Cas had an idea of what to do, though he'd never put the skills into practice before.

He found a piece of glass embedded in Sam's side. Somehow it bypassed the Kevlar and punctured something. Cas wasn't sure what. All he knew was that Sam started coughing up blood, and that was not good.

He had a small medkit on him and pulled it out. He turned Sam to the side, to try and keep the blood loss to a minimum. He knew pulling out the glass would be a bad idea, but Sam started wheezing.  _ Shit. I think his lung collapsed. _

Cas took a deep breath and stripped the Kevlar off of Sam quickly, trying not to jar him.  _ Just breathe, Cas. It's just your nineteenth nervous breakdown. _ He ripped open the BDUs and poured some alcohol on the wound and Sam's chest. Cas then pulled out the syringe in the pack and jammed in between two ribs, pulling out the stopper. Sam took a deep breath.

_ Thank fuck. _ Cas thought.

He then started to clean the wound as best he could until he heard two things behind him.

One was the formerly unconscious Dean screaming, “Sam!”

The other was Garth, one of the medics, rushing over with heavy footfalls.

 

* * *

 

The beeping was steady on the monitor. They had made it back to the Bunker with no other injuries or problems. They were able to recover the wrecked vehicle and get everyone back safely.

Dean had a minor concussion and a cut above the eye, Cas just minor bruises. Sam was still out, but expected to make a full recovery. 

Benny had to pry Dean from Sam's side once they returned so Isaac and Garth could work. He also needed the CO to talk to Bobby, so Cas stayed close to Sam in his stead, as did Colonel, who was curled at the foot of the bed.

Hours later, after what was likely a forced feeding, shower, and nap, Dean walked into the infirmary to find Cas still sitting there, dirty.

Dean said nothing as he sat on the other side of his unconscious brother.

“The violence of war is random. It does not make sense. The loss was futile and unnecessary. This leaves psychological wounds. There is no higher purpose to war and the sacrifice was a waste. It's easier to believe the myth that such loss is noble and necessary despite the glaring contradictions.” Cas said quietly as he watched Sam lay in the infirmary bed.

“What? You're a priest now?” Dean said, half joking.

“Harvard Divinity School, actually. I went there before J-School at Mizzou.” Cas said flatly, not taking his eyes off the unconscious figure. “My ethics professor liked to say that we would spend our career fighting an ascendant fundamentalist movement, or as he liked to say ‘religious fascists’. It's one of the reasons I switched to journalism.”

Dean made a grunt of acknowledgement, but Cas just stared at the resting soldier. He was glad it wasn't worse than a deep cut and partially collapsed lung, and more so that he was able to get to Sam before anything worse had happened.

“I-I don't....” Dean said quietly. His eyes were moist as he looked at Cas.

Cas gave Dean a sad smile. “You're welcome... Dean.”

The two sat in silence for a beat, lost staring at one another. “You should eat, shower, and sleep.”

Cas nodded and got up. Before he's out of the door, Dean spoke. “Cas… thank you.”


	6. Poison - Acoustic (Rita Ora)

_“Hey bro, what's shaking?” Gabriel said with a grin. Thankfully, the internet connection was working at the moment. Then again, he was staying at a fucking Hilton, albeit in Naypyidaw._

_“Nothing much. I'm applying for an embed in Afghanistan. It's for that General that--” Cas said scratching his chin._

_“That General you tripped over because you forgot to tie your laces with the magic knot I taught you, which inadvertently caused you to save his life.” Gabe said trying not to laugh… and failing miserably._

_Cas gave his brother his best death glare._

_“Aww, I love you too.” Gabe said, now munching on some cookies he grabbed offscreen. Cas just shook his head. “So instead of visiting your favourite brother--”_

_“Debateable.” Castiel interrupted._

_“--you're holed up where?” Gabe continued, despite the interjection._

_“I'm in Myanmar. There was another attack a few days ago, but everything seems to be settling down… for now. Then I'm headed to Burundi for a couple of weeks until I get word about the embed. If that falls through, I'll be back in Chicago. Otherwise, maybe Christmas?” Cas said, glancing through his calendar._

_Gabriel just nodded. “My little intrepid reporter.” He smiled fondly. Cas knew that  his brother missed him, and vice versa. They sat there for a moment in front of their computers and thousands of miles of distance, but it felt like they were in the same room for just a moment._

_“So, you gonna propose to Kali?” Cas said, changing the subject._

_“So, you gotten laid sometime this century?” Countering his younger brother with a raised eyebrow._

Cas stared at the background on his laptop thinking of the last time he spoke to his brother. Sam getting hurt was a little too close to home for him, so he was thankful when the Lieutenant woke up a day after the injury. He's on his way to a full recovery, and was grounded for the time being. Thanks to the talents of Isaac and Garth, he didn't need to be airlifted, and was expertly patched up when they made it back to the bunker.

He leaned over to his bag and pulled out all of handwritten notes. He'd collected a lot of information, but hadn't started with the actual article yet. He was still unsure of the topic, that is, until now.

He pulled up a blank document file and began typing.

 

_My brother once told me that love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop. He stole it from H.L. Mencken, but knowing him, it wouldn't be the first thing he'd stolen. Regardless, love and war go hand in hand: Thanatos and Eros. Sigmund Freud divided the forces of human nature between the Eros instinct, the impulse within us that propels us to become close to others, to preserve and conserve, and the Thanatos, or death instinct, the impulse that works towards the annihilation of all living things, including ourselves. For Freud, these forces were in eternal conflict. He was pessimistic about ever eradicating war. All human history, he argued, is a tug-of-war between these two instincts._

_“The meaning of the evolution of civilization is no longer obscure to us,” Freud wrote in Civilization and Its Discontents. “It must present the struggle between Eros and Death, between the instinct of life and the instinct of destruction, as it works itself out in the human species. This struggle is what all life essentially consists of.” We believe in the nobility and self-sacrifice demanded by war, especially when we are blinded by the narcotic of war. We discover in the communal struggle, the shared sense of meaning and purpose, a cause. War fills our spiritual void. I do not miss war, but I miss what it brought. I can never say I was happy in the midst of the fighting, but I, and many others, had a sense of purpose. This is a quality war shares with love, for we are, in love, also able to choose fealty and self-sacrifice over security._

_Happiness is elusive and protean. And it is sterile when devoid of meaning. But meaning, when it is set in the vast arena of war with its high stakes, its adrenaline-driven rushes, its bold sweeps and drama, is heartless and self-destructive. The initial selflessness of war mirrors that of love, the chief emotion war destroys. And this is what war often looks and feels like, at its inception: love. The ancient Greeks understood this strange relationship between love and death in wartime. When Achilles kills Penthesilea, the queen of the Amazons, in the Trojan War, he falls in love with her as she expires on the battlefield. Once she is dead, once love is dead, Achilles is doomed._

_We are tempted to reduce life to a simple search for happiness. Happiness, however, withers if the other temptation is to disavow the search for happiness in order to be faithful to that which provides meaning. But to live only for meaning—indifferent to all happiness—makes us fanatic, self-righteous, and cold. It leaves us cut off from our own humanity and the humanity of others. We must hope for grace, for our lives to be sustained by moments of meaning and happiness, both equally worthy of human communion._

_In the wake of catastrophe, there is a desperate longing by all those affected to be in the physical presence of those they care for. This love, like death, radiates outwards. It battles Thanatos at the very moment of death’s sting. These two fundamental human impulses crash like breakers into each other. And however much beyond reason, there is always a feeling that love is not powerless or impotent as we had believed a few seconds before. Love alone fuses happiness and meaning. Love alone can fight the impulse that lures us toward self-destruction._ _  
_

_There are few sanctuaries in war. But one is provided by couples in love. They are not able to staunch the slaughter. They are often powerless and can themselves become victims. Love kept them grounded. Love, when it is deep and sustained by two individuals, includes self-giving—often self-sacrifice—as well as desire. For the covenant of love is such that it recognizes both the fragility and the sanctity of the individual. It recognizes itself in the other. It alone can save us._

 

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” Cas said absently, too deep and lost in words.

Dean opened the door and was stopped for a minute. Cas was typing on his laptop, the bed strewn with notes, but what made Dean’s mouth go dry was the fact Cas was wearing a pair of thick dark rimmed glasses.

“Hey Cas.” Dean said.

Cas looked up from his work, “Hello, Dean. How's Sam?”

“Sam is fine, but Eileen bitched me out. Thank God her hands were going too fast for me to completely follow, because I think she told me to do something way inappropriate with my M-16.” Dean said with a laugh. “And Colonel hasn't tried to bite me, so there's that as well.” He blamed himself for what happened, which was wrong.

Cas chuckled, his voice deep and throaty. Dean was not mentally swooning. “Well, I hope they know it's not actually your fault.”

“Yeah, they do, but… well, I just wanted to properly say thank you. For me and Sammy. It was above and beyond.” Dean spoke earnestly. He knew what Cas actually wanted to say, but deflected. Dean couldn't handle _that_ conversation right now.

Cas blushed slightly, “You're very welcome, Dean.”

The Major nodded, “Good, well dinner’s in an hour. I'm making burgers.”

Cas was taken aback a bit, in the time he's been here, Dean hasn't cooked. “Those are my favourite.”

Dean looked a bit bashful, “I know.” And then left without another word.

Cas watched him go.

Something had definitely shifted between the two of them.

During Cas's tenure at the Bunker, Dean had run hot and cold with him, which has confused Cas to no avail. The reporter hadn't been much better, but after getting to know Dean from what he'd seen and others have told him, he'd definitely developed feelings. To call it a crush would be a disservice; though there is definitely something, especially considering the various wet dreams he's had in regard to Dean.

Cas sighed. Things were confusing, to say the least. A part of him felt like he could have something with Dean, while the other felt that it would be another thing that he'd fuck up.

He stared back at his screen. _Love._ He'd meant to write about family born out of combat, of brothers in arms, yet he'd ended up on the romantic spectrum.

_There is always a romanticism attached to war. Song and poetry, alone expound upon it._

Cas stared at the blinking cursor. He didn't know what the Hell he was doing, but he looked down at his handwritten notes and saw one common thread: _Dean._

 

* * *

 

Dinner had felt lighter and more relaxed for the first time since Cas arrived. Dean smiled as Cas tore into the burgers and hand cut fries. He sat catty corner at the head of the table from Cas, and smiled watching the reporter enjoying himself so much.

Others noticed, but refrained from commenting. Colonel did let a out a happy bark, though.

 

* * *

 

The screen came to life in front of Dean. “Really general, the elliptical?”

Bobby scowled at the camera. “I have bad knees.” He was in his private office, dressed in sweats. “How's Sam?”

Bobby only used first names when they were alone, for decorum sake, hence why Dean always started every call formally. “Good. Eileen chewed me out something fierce.”

“She's a saint.” Bobby said.

“Yeah, otherwise things are good. Cas is fine.” Dean said, relaxing back in his chair.

“Cas?” Bobby raised his eyebrow. Dean hadn't realized the familiar use until Bobby repeated it back to him. Before he could say more, Bobby smiled. “Good. He's a good egg.”

That said more than anything, but Dean wasn't sure if he could handle anything beyond whatever was happening at the moment. He kept silent.

“So, how's Ash? He still hasn't called Ellen.” Dean breathed out, as the call shifted to family matters.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, guys. We've got reports that I'tiraf looks like the next likely target. It's situated closer to here than the other two villages. There doesn't seem to be a discernible pattern as of yet.” Dean pointed to the map overlay behind him. “What we do know is that there seems to be…”

Cas zoned out while Dean spoke. He'd had another dream last night about the Major that had left him hard and wanting when he woke up. Cas wasn't sure what had shifted in their relationship, but there was definitely something forming between the two of them that felt important, like some sort of profound bond.

The past few days had seemed more relaxed, as they spoke more often, and Cas had even spent time in the Dean's room discussing books and music. There were long silent looks that neither acknowledged, but both knew were present.

“Okay, dismissed.” Dean had said, pulling Cas back to the present.

 _Shit._ He had missed everything, but then looked down at his notepad and realized that even though his thoughts were elsewhere, his hands were still aware. They were headed to I’tiraf, and Cas was riding with Dean again.

 

* * *

 

Sam was still benched at the moment, so Ash took his place. The teams had arrived, and started searching the village. They were surprised to find it already abandoned, maybe a week at most.

Dean made sure Cas stuck close to him as they searched the village for signs of life and booby traps.

Gunshots rang out from somewhere, whizzing so close by Dean's head, that he felt a breeze. “Fuck.” He pulled Cas down with him, frantically.

Everyone had spread out at this point, sticking to a buddy system, and somehow, Dean ended up with an unarmed reporter, just because he wanted him close. _Stupid move, Winchester._

Dean panicked for a second before he looked out trying to find the source of the shooter. They were trapped on the far side of the bombed out structure; thankfully the gunfire seemed to have dissipated. And Dean’s men called out as much. Seems like there was just a timer on a rifle set to go off with movement. Odd, to say the least. Dean’s face was neutral as he scanned the area. Cas, on the other hand, was anything but.

“Don't tell me you weren't scared, I saw your face.” He hissed, keeping his voice low.

“Shut up, Cas.” That's another thing, Dean didn't know when ‘Novak’ had become ‘Cas’ again; especially since the tone had changed since the first time Dean had said it.

“You were scared, just as much as I was. There's no difference.” He said.

“Well, big deal, Candy Ass. You were scared.” Dean cleared the area visually, his shoulders relaxing minutely. And that's when he heard a crash behind him. Cas had fallen, his leg looked a bit bloody near the cuff, but nothing serious. Cas was sat amongst the rubble just looking grumpy more than anything.

Dean smiled and laughed. “Hey babe, watch where you're goin’ there.” Before Dean could think about what he just said, using such a familiar term of endearment, Cas started to laugh too, even harder than Dean.

After a moment or two, he walked over to Cas as the laughter died down. Cas looked up finally and his face was tracked with tears. “You going to stand there, assbutt? Or are you going to help me up?”

Dean reached down and grabbed his wrists, locking them and pulling him up slowly until their faces were a scant few inches apart. For a second it looked like they were going to kiss, as eyes darted to one another's lips.

Dean could feel his own need and want. It'd been slow, but he wanted Cas, more than he could admit to himself, and to be honest, it scared the shit out of him more than any bomb or gun ever could. So, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he deflected.

“Not for nothing Cas, but the last time that someone looked at me like that, I got laid.” Dean said, cockiness returning to cover his internal freak out.

Cas simply blinked, a smile creeping up on his face. “Looking good. Mmmm, you really are good looking, Dean. It doesn't look to me like you were scared up there at all. You only look like ten thousand miles of bad road.” Cas smirked, _the fucking bastard_ , and stepped away from Dean.

All the soldier could do, was stare as Cas walked over to the fallen wall, that the team walked around seconds later.

_What the ever loving fuck was that?!_

 

* * *

 

Cas walked as far away as he could from Dean as they made their way back to the vehicles with the rest of the platoon. He was quiet, but in his head he was screaming.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What fresh Hell have I created now?!_

He was so close to leaning in and kissing Dean, putting himself out of his misery, but then Dean had to turn into an asshole, and so Cas had to up the ante. He couldn't believe what he said to Dean. He essentially said the guy wasn't worth it, which was so far from the truth.

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

Hours later, Dean was laid in his bed not sleeping. The memory foam doing its job in keeping him comfortable, but his mind was far from calm.

_What the fuck was that?!_

He replayed the moment with Cas over in his head.

They were stood so close that all Dean or Cas had to do was lean in. If he were honest with himself, he knew where those feelings had come from, but Dean was pathological about lying in regard to his feelings. Everyone knew that, especially Dean. It didn't matter, though, Cas was gonna leave soon and… _And what?_ He asked himself. _And you are going to be alone without even knowing if he…_

He let his thoughts trail off. It wasn't fair to him or to Cas. Dean was a mess inside of a psychiatrist’s dream house of emotional issues. There's no way he'd put Cas through that even if… _Even if the guy looked at you like he wanted to jump you right there._

Dean shook his head of the thought and made a noise of frustration. There was no way he could sleep with the herd of chick flick running through his head.

Dean sat up and scraped his hands over his face, then scratched his neck. He stood and grabbed his “old dead guy” robe from the nearby chair. It was one of the first things Dean found when they searched the Bunker after it was cleared by the Bomb and Hazmat teams.

He shuffled barefoot towards the kitchen, and didn't notice he had company until he heard a voice from behind him. “Hello, Dean.”

The reason for his sleeplessness was sat at the table with a mug of tea. His hair was a mess, and his body was clad in a stretched out AC/DC shirt and a pair of blue boxer briefs… not that Dean was paying that close attention whatsoever.

Castiel looked at Dean, “Are you alright?”

 _No thanks to you._ Dean thought. “I'm… I'm fine, Cas.” He grabbed some chocolate milk from the fridge, labeled “Sam”, and drank straight from the carton. “What're you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Dean.” Cas said quietly over his tea.

Dean took a glass from the cabinet, and poured out more of the purloined beverage. He sat across from Cas, and took another sip. “What I wouldn't give for a beer or whiskey right now.”

Cas snorted softly. “I'd offer you some Johnny Walker Blue, but I sent the case to the General as a thank you.”

Dean laughs, “That old rat bastard. I better get one of those next time I'm back stateside.”

“I'll get you one if he's drunk them all by then.” Cas said with a small smile.

“Thanks, Cas. That's kind of you.” Cas just shrugged. “I'm just tired, I guess. It's been more than a few tours. I even tripped my contract a couple of years back. There's this high I used to get from being here. Doing good, but now. I don't know. I don't think I can hack it some days. I don't think that it's worth it sometimes.” Dean admitted quietly. He sighed and took another sip of chocolate milk.

“There is nothing redeeming about any war. People die for causes, usually either nationalistic, religious, or ethnic. No good ever comes from it. Despite these truths, it is a constant. There's this historian, Will Durant, who once calculated that in all of recorded human history, there are only twenty-nine years where war was not waged somewhere.” Cas said sadly. “I’ve never found a way to report death properly over the years. Despite the acclaim for articles, photos, books, when you wade through all those stories that were given a once over by serious treatments from higher ups, so in the end the suffering seems unimpressive. This time though, I’m uncensored, for the most part. Even the dispassionate feelings are gone.”

“How so?” Dean asked, setting his coffee down.

“I was unfeeling for so long. We tend to dismantle our moral universe in war, and it's hard to put back together. Between truth and contentment, most pick the latter. There was no guilt, but after… after my brother Gabriel’s death, you could say there were doorways of doubt. I’ve been trying to maintain the indifference I once clinged to, but that cracked it. Furthermore, there are other factors that have begun to impair my judgment.” Cas said with some finality that Dean wasn’t brave enough to question.

“During my first month back after my first tour,” Dean licked his lips, “I woke up one night and knew the bedroom was full of dead soldiers. It happened a few times. They were faceless, though. The funny thing is it stopped when I got assigned here. I don't know what it is about this place, but it's the first home I think I've ever really had.”

“What about when you were growing up?” Cas asked.

“Military bases. Dad was a Marine so we shifted about a lot. Then me and Sammy moved back to Kansas during my basic training when Dad died.” Dean took another sip.

“Combat?” Cas asked.

“No, he was hit by a drunk driver on his way to pick up Sammy from some teen nerd lawyer thing.” Dean said.

“‘Teen nerd lawyer thing’?” Cas said, his brow furrowing.

“Mock trial. He wanted to be a lawyer once upon a time.” Dean’s voice was wistful.

“What happened?” Cas spoke tentatively.

“Not my story.” He paused. “Anyway, I got a room at Sam’s. He’s home more than I am -- he’s got a wife and all. Nothing much in it. Didn't see the point in buying shit. Only thing I got waiting for me is Baby.”

“You've a--” Dean interrupted with a laugh.

“Not ‘a baby’ - Baby. It's my car, was my Dad's. He was in the truck when he crashed. Eileen, Sam’s wife, has Baby. It's a ‘67 Impala. She's keeps it mint for me. I drive it when I'm there. Last time was a few years ago...” He said, taking another sip.

“I've a room at my broth-- at Kali’s. More like a closet. There are a couple of boxes I haven't opened in years.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Gabriel kept bugging me about them. Threatening to unpack them all the time.”

Dean looked at him, until Cas finally opened his eyes and met the green-eyed gaze. The question wasn't asked, but Cas answered it anyway.

“Kali now keeps everything, but knows better than to ask. She makes a good almost sister-in-law, but it's no replacement.” Cas half smiled. “I guess beloved family members getting hit by drunk drivers is something else we've in common.”

Dean looked at Cas, his gaze softening. He knew he has to change the subject, but Cas did it for them.

“What do you expect in the end, Dean, _kleos?”_ Cas asked, absently stirring his coffee.

“ _Kleos?”_ Dean asked.

“Glory, or other people's opinions of you. A Greek hero would earn _kleos_ through accomplishing great deeds, often through his own death.” Cas said, looking up at his companion.

Dean paused for a moment. He was career army, and knew the odds. It was something that he was lucky enough to skirt so far, but it was always an unspoken fear. You never do hear the bullet that kills you, and at this point, Dean knew he was just playing Russian Roulette.

“ _Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_.” Cas said.

“You really love those foreign languages.” Dean said with a half smile.

Cas looked at the man sat across the table from him. “It's from the Roman lyrical poet Horace's ‘Odes’. The line can be roughly translated into English as:’It is sweet and glorious to die for one's country.’ But I'm not sure you believe that much anymore.” His eyes were sad as they bore into Dean.

“What gave me away?” Dean said without a hint of sarcasm.

“There's nothing redeeming about any war, both you and I know that by now. The amount of dead we've seen... we’re immune to it by now. The only solace we have left comes from simple acts of kindness. They are the tiny, flickering candles in a cavern of darkness that sustain our common humanity. Without those… well… atrocities cancel out atrocities, at this point.” Cas said, his gaze shifting to the tea before him.

“You're pretty profound for 3am.” Dean remarked, giving Cas a wry smile.

“Reporters are the witnesses to history.” Cas said flatly.

“And us grunts are the forefront.” Dean said quietly.

They both say their a moment in silence. So many things spoken and unspoken.

“Sometimes,” Dean licked his lips, “My dad said you don't stop being a soldier if you get wounded in battle.” Cas stared at Dean, while he traced abstract patterns on the table with his finger. The Major rolled his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. “My dad always saw me as the good soldier and nothing else. Sometimes I wonder if he actually cared if I lived or died. He dumped a lot of shit on me. My mom…” Dean swallowed and steadied himself. “My mom died when I was four, home invasion. He made it my mission to protect Sam growing up, but he was the one who let mom die. He…” Dean blinked to keep the tears from falling.

Cas reached across the table and rested his hand on top of Dean’s. The Major let loose a shuddered breath. “It doesn't matter anymore. He's been gone a long time. But this is what I've got. I'm good at it. I've got my men.”

“There's more to life than duty, Dean.” Cas said quietly.

“Yeah…”

“Love may not always triumph but it keeps us human. It offers the only chance to escape from the contagion of war. Perhaps it is the only antidote and there are times when remaining human is the only victory possible.”

“That's pretty eloquent there, Cas.”

“I can't claim credit, it was Chris Hedges.” He said with a small smile.

“So you're telling me that all I got to do is fall in love?” Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand, almost imperceptibly. “I got to admit, the uniform does wonders stateside as a panty and drawer dropper,” Dean winks at Cas who faintly blushes, “but doesn’t work so well when you’re in the sandbox.”

“Familial love counts as well, as does that of those who are brothers-in-arms, but romantic love may be more beneficial. The salvation of man is through love and in love.” Castiel's eyes were unwavering as they locked on Dean’s.

“Kinda hard to find someone in a war zone, let alone some who'd put up the the truck load of issues I got rattling around up here.” Dean said, tapping his temple.

“It needn't be conditional, Dean. Imperfections are what makes people perfect for one another.” Cas said earnestly.

“You can't say stuff like that Cas.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

“You can always leave, Dean. You've given enough of your life, of yourself.”

“What about my guys? What about Sammy?”

“Their lives are ultimately their own responsibility. Besides, I'm sure your brother would rather see you happy, more than anything else.” There was a pause before Cas had the courage to continue with this thread of dialogue. It was getting too close to something that had yet to be acknowledged by either of them. “Even he was able to find someone who was conducive to this life.”

“Eileen is a rarity. You don't find many like her.” Dean lets out a breath, letting his hand shift to properly hold Castiel’s. “Or you.” He added quietly.

Cas wanted to vault over the table more than anything at that moment. Dean was contemplating the same thing and started to move from his chair. There was heat and want in his expression that was mirrored in Cas’s, as their eyes never wavered from one another.

Dean was on his feet, about to step closer to Cas, but then he immediately dropped their hands when he heard footsteps right behind him.

Sam yawned loudly as he shuffled into the kitchen, Colonel at his side. “Oh, hey guys, what's up?”

Dean whirled around, a grin plastered on his face. “Couldn't sleep, and I found this one hanging out in the kitchen when I got here.” He points a thumb over his shoulder to Cas, pointedly not looking at the man. “I'm beat now, though. So I'll see y'all in the morning proper. Night Sammy, Cas.”

Dean finally looked at the other man for the first time since Sam walked in. There's a mixture of hurt and understanding in his eyes, as well as what could best be described as longing. Underneath the fake smiles, Dean was most likely showing the same.

“Goodnight Dean.” Cas said softly, as he watched his retreating figure. Dean doesn't dare look over his shoulder, no matter how tempting the urge.

“You okay, Cas?” Sam asked, taking Deans vacated seat, Colonel curled up at his feet.

“Just tired Sam.” Cas said, a genuine lopsided smile on his face.

“Yeah, I hear ya. I'm looking forward to this tour being over.” He took a minute and then continued. “I haven't told Dean yet, but I'm going to retire. I miss Eileen, and it isn't fair to her with me being away so much. We want to have kids, but no way was I going to have her raise them on her own. And, well, she came to visit me when I was at the vet in Aviano for Colonel not too long ago...” Sam looked at Cas, a mystified look on his face, making him look years younger. “She's pregnant.”

Cas flushed with warmth. “That's amazing, Sam. Congratulations. You'll make make wonderful parents.”

Sam just grinned, “Yeah. I'm gonna tell Dean tomorrow. That's why I was up. Eileen just called me on Skype to tell me. I gotta let Bobby know too.”

“I've heard both you and Dean refer to the General informally, why?” Cas asked, finishing off his tea.

“He was good friends with our Dad. There was an accident--”

“Yes, Dean told me.” Sam's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't comment on it.

“Yeah, so, he helped us a lot after that. Him and his wife, Ellen, were like our second parents sometimes, though that'd make Ash our brother in some respects.” Sam laughed.

Cas tilted his head in confusion, “Lieutenant Harvelle?”

“Yeah, Bobby remarried after his first wife died of cancer.” Sam said going over to the fridge. “Hey, Cas. Do you know what happened to my chocolate milk?”

Cas hid a smile and shrugged as he stared at the empty mug before him. Colonel snored silently on the floor nearby.


	7. This Fffire (Franz Ferdinand)

It'd been two weeks since that night, even longer since their last mission, as things had gone quiet. The idea of downtime wasn't foreign to the unit, but one lasting such a great deal of time was. They were, for lack of a better term, going stir crazy. And when you add, what Kevin had quietly labeled “butt loads of UST” between Dean and Cas, things were even more dicey.

Unbeknownst to the pair, everyone had picked up on the budding relationship? crush? infatuation? undying need to proclaim their love for one another and go adopt a shit tonne of baby animals? (That last one was Kevin, again.)

None of the men had said one word, though. No one was taken aback by it, them all having known Dean for ages, and just wanted him to be happy. Ash had even set up a betting pool on when they'd crack and end up being found half naked in the supply closet. Dean would probably be pissed if he ever found out, mortified if he knew Bobby and Rufus had put money on it as well.

Regardless, the downtime for everyone found Dean and Cas together more often than apart. There was nothing untoward, but longing looks (that Ennis dubbed “eye sex”) occurred and some fleeting touches that lasted a little too long.

“Hopeless.” Cesar said under his breath one morning after he gave them updates about his husband Jesse and their adopted twins, as if it would give a hint of some sort. Suffice to say, it was blatant to everyone, though despite the two previous “close calls” weeks ago, neither man was brave enough to do anything, or even acknowledge it.

“All right, guys. As we've been benched for the time being, and everyone is getting cabin fever, we've got a game for you lot.” Dean said to the gathered team in the common room.

“Every man for himself.” He tossed a large duffel bag on the table. It's partially open to reveal laser tag gear. “Emergency lighting starts in 10 minutes. Private quarters are out of bounds. Infirmary is the safe zone. Two hours begins when the lights go off. Hooah!” The bag was quickly ransacked, Dean took one of the last two gear packages as Cas walked over.

“Lazer tag, Dean?” He said with a wry smile.

Dean shrugged. “Active shooter training without the mess of paint.” He pulled out the last gear pack, “Suit up, Cas. T-minus 3 minutes.” He then winked at Cas and left.

 

* * *

 

Emergency lights leave the bunker dark for the most part. Cas hadn't realized how big and ominous the base was until this moment. He'd only been at it 10 minutes, but hadn't seen a soul, as he slinked past the kitchen.

The gun looked and felt like a regular Glock, and Cas was sure the trigger pull was similar. There hadn't been any noise from hits or shuffling feet, which Cas found odd, until he remembered that these were trained Special Ops men, and knew better. He's probably a sitting duck to them, despite his movements.

There's a noise to his left that echoed down the corridor. Someone's been hit, and quiet laughter and cursing followed. He moved in the opposite direction.

Cas found himself in the garage sometime later, he's not sure how long he'd been at this, as he left his watch on the nightstand in his quarters. He passed a variety of vehicles, both land and air, and, inexplicably, a small boat. He can't wrap his head around its presence, but found that right now is not the time to dwell.

Someone dragged too close to the tank on his right, so Cas fired. “Dammit.” It's a direct hit on Dean. Cas grinned widely at the realization.

Cas walked forward, as Dean looked down at the blinking breastplate. “Sorry about that Major. Guess this just isn't your game.” Cas whispered.

Dean looked at him and scowled, “You just wait, buddy. Once this thing recycles, I'm coming for you.” He said not realizing the innuendo until too late.

“Really now?” Cas almost smirked… Okay, he just flat out smirked.

Before Dean could respond, there was a noise near the entrance. He pulled Cas tight to his chest, covering the lights. It also brought Cas's face millimeters from Dean’s. In the faint light, Cas could still see the freckles that dot his face, and the green eyes that shine in the darkness. A breath ghosted over Cas's face, as both of them still. They stared at one another, not crossing the massive emotional but scant physical distance between them.

They both glanced at each other's lips and moved to lean in when the lights went up and an air raid siren went off. Game over.

The change sobered them up and they stepped back from one another. “Good game, Cas.” Dean said quietly, his voice slightly cracking.

“You too, Dean.” Cas responded, just as softly in his gravelly voice.

 

* * *

 

Everyone laughed as Garth recounted getting cornered by Lee in the kitchen when Colonel bolted out of nowhere, as Sam followed, guns blazing, only to get shot by Kevin in a flyby, as the Sasquatch tripped over the dog who stopped to eat some spilled kibble (“Nice diversion, there, Garth.”). Lee and Garth then chose to flee instead of shooting each other.

Unsurprisingly, Victor and Cesar tied with the most kills, but Cesar was the winner in the end, as he didn't take any hits, while Victor had one from Benny. The game proved to be an excellent way to let off steam for everyone… Well, most everyone. After their moment in the garage, Dean and Cas were the epitome of awkward blushing teens in front of each other. Dean actually stumbled into a wall. Thankfully, Cas was the only witness.

A couple of days later, Dean sat at his desk writing up mission reports and finishing various paperwork minutiae. He paused every once in awhile from typing. He knew he was having trouble concentrating, and when he looked down at the legal pad next to him, he saw a sentence in his own handwriting that he didn't realise he had even written. 

_ I think I'm falling in love with Cas. _

He sat there for a moment, his eyes glued to the yellow paper.  _ Fuck. _

 

* * *

 

Everyone filed into the briefing room the following morning. They had gotten word on the group that was terrorizing the region. “Okay, so it looks like there's a spiraling pattern, based on what was previously believed to be unrelated raids and attacks. Based on mapping done by Ross and Harvelle, it looks like  Hawa is the next target.”

“What are they spiraling towards?” Deacon asked.

“Us.” Dean responded flatly.

 

* * *

 

Dean sat in the gun truck with Ross, Victor, and Cas. “How the fuck did they find out about the Bunker?” Ross asked.

It was a question Dean had himself, but couldn't for the life of him answer. “I wish I knew. It's above ‘Top Secret’, so only brass, the President, and the appropriations committees know.”

“Probably a fucking politician. I bet you anything it's that Congressman who put in a request with the General last year. Singer said he wouldn't let that slime all anywhere near it.” Victor said.

“So you're suggesting a member of the House of Representatives supplies secrets to terrorists and treason?” Cas asked curiously.

Victor shrugged, “When it comes to that grease bag Dick Roman, I wouldn't put it past him.” Richard Roman was the Republican Congressman out of Indiana, and somehow head of the US Armed Services Appropriations Committee. He dealt with scandal in the part related to SucroCorp and a a lot of SuperPAC money. He was also photographed with some less than savory characters from time to time, but somehow never lost an election.

Cas hummed in agreement.

 

* * *

 

They arrived in Hawa nearly an hour later. The village was small, maybe 100 people. Nothing seemed out of order as the trucks rolled up a few clicks away. They were set near the rocky outcropping. Ross and Vic were sent ahead to scout the village. Most everyone was out on this mission, Ash, Sam, and Lee kept the home fires warm. Dean had insisted Sam stay behind due to his impending fatherhood.

Dean didn't want to think about what they talked about in the truck. He couldn't believe that someone would turn traitor on their country, but it probably had to do with money, it always did. The thing that worried him the most was that the safety of his men seemed like it was compromised, that was unacceptable.

Ross and Vic made it back in under an hour. “It all looks clear. We can make a base here or get closer. There are a few empty shelters along the western edge of the village, it looks like an old shepherd's cottage or something.” Ross said.

“Sounds good. Can we get by without making a ruckus?” Dean asked.

Vic shook his head, “Not unless we add a couple of hours to come around the wrong side of those hills.” He pointed to their 9 o’clock. 

Dean nodded. “I'll take safety over speed at this point.”

 

* * *

 

They headed out on a convoy towards the backside of the hills near the village, so that they weren't seen coming from the west. It was a strategic decision, as Dean was still chewing on the fact that they were a target. He just wished he knew why.

Cas sat next to him quietly, glancing over once and awhile. He could feel the worry and frustration emanating off Dean. This wasn't good in any sort of fashion. Cas also knew that he should have stayed behind instead of going out with them on this run, but he had asked Dean to accompany them. Dean seemed to be having a hard time saying no to Cas lately.

_ “It's not safe, Cas.” Dean said, running a hand through his short hair. _

_ “Dean, it's a scout mission. You said that it's a possible target, but not for certain. I've been in firefights, bombs, and hostage situations. This isn't my first rodeo.” Cas said sternly. He appreciated Dean’s concern, but he wasn't a child. _

_ Dean sighed. “Fine, but you aren't to leave my side, get it? You stick next to me no matter what.” _

_ Cas smiled. _

Cas looked down at the space between them, it was only a few inches, but he felt the need to fill it somehow. He laid his hand on the seat with his pinky brushing Dean’s thigh. He could feel Dean tense for a second, before he relaxed. Dean turned his head and smiled at the reporter, but his face immediately went pale as an armored truck drove full force into their vehicle.

There was no time to react, as everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up to yelling. He was being dragged from the broken shell of the truck by a bleeding Benny. Everything was fuzzy and his mouth was dry, “Cas” was all he could manage.

“He's gone, Dean. I'm sorry.” Benny said, hauling him out of the back seat. Victor and Ross were being tended to nearby. There were bullet holes in the other vehicles.

Dean was already out of it, but he knew he couldn't have heard Benny correctly. “Let me see him. Let me see Cas.”

Benny shook his head, as Garth came over. “Dean, he's gone. They took him.”

Dean sat in silent shock.  _ NO! _


	8. I See Fire (Ed Sheeran)

The wooden chair crumbled against the wall as Dean screamed. Papers were strewn around everywhere. The table was upturned, with broken bits of glass littering the ground. Maps and photos ripped and torn. He'd only been at it 30 minutes, but the debrief room was a mess. 

He was quiet on the ride back and during the post-mission wrap up. Once Benny left after trying to talk to him, he punched the first monitor… the rest of the room followed.

The disaster was a reflection of how he felt on the inside now that Cas was gone.  _ Cas is gone. _ The thought halted him as he grabbed another chair to throw. It clattered to the ground moments before Dean followed it down.

He had lost men before, through injury and death, fuck, Sammy was laid up for months when his leg got busted. That's how he met Eileen, but this was different.

Cas was different. Somehow he had gotten under Dean’s skin in the best and worst ways. He was everything that Dean had ever wanted, thought it wasn't apparent at first glance. Bobby knew though, he admitted as much. Leave it to the old man to try and play matchmaker during a war. That's how Sam met Ellen, though, so it's not wholly unexpected.

But now, there was no Cas. He didn't know if the man he… the man he loved?… was even alive. This was beyond a not-okay situation. He could do this, not without Cas. 

_ Fuck. _

Dean sat in a hunched heap and silently wept. 

 

* * *

 

Sam sat hunched over Kevin and Ash as they tirelessly worked. Deacon and Victor finally managed to pull Dean from the wreckage of the conference room, and put him to bed. Isaac had given him a sedative, because there was no other way the man would sleep. Everyone took turns watching over their commander, Lee was in there now.

“Anything?” Sam said for what seemed like the 10th time in the past five minutes. Benny paced behind him.

“I'm cross referencing all the images and data to get a hit. I'm sure the facial recognition will pick up something. Thankfully they didn't wear masks, it's like they wanted us to know.” Kevin said quietly as Ash continued to type.

It took nearly an hour until-- “Fuck me sideways.” Ash said, his voice running cold.

“What?!” Sam nearly yelled popping out of his seat. Ennis sorted awake, as Benny was in with Dean.

“Azazel Lehne. Fuck, dude, this is not good. This is so not good.” Ash was pulling up pictures and files. Lehne was former US Military, turned private contractor after a dishonorable discharge. From there he got into bed with arms dealers and terrorists. His most recent whereabouts were unknown.

All of them were silently reading until Ennis got to his list of known associates. “Holy shit. This is beyond not good. This is… This is…” His face had gone pale and his mouth quiet.

“Alastair Rolston.” Sam breathed the name. The room went silent. Rolston was Dean’s former commander. He was an old school soldier, who was once highly decorated until Dean reported him.

Despite his illustrious military career, Rolston was dismissed for what they officially deemed “conduct unbecoming of an officer.” In reality, it was torture. Dean was just a grunt, and had no knowledge of what was happening in his platoon, until one day he overheard one of the officers saying something. The next day he inadvertently saw a prisoner dragged away bloody. He sat-phoned Bobby immediately. As it turned out, Rolston didn't limit his techniques to prisoners. Before the MPs arrived, Dean found himself on the other end of Alastair's blade. Honestly, as far as Sam was concerned, Alastair should never have been taken alive.

To say the situation Cas was in right now was “not good” was a laughable understatement. Sam couldn't even imagine what was being done to him. Dean barely said anything about what happened in the few short hours he was held, but even Sam knew it was agony. The worse part now, though, was someone had to tell Dean.

 

* * *

 

The knock on the door was soft. Benny looked up from his book to see Sam peek his head in. Thankfully Dean was still asleep. Sam nodded to Benny, and stepped in the room, his expression dark. From that alone, Benny knew that whatever they found out was not sunshine and puppies.

Sam took a seat on the bed and gently woke his brother. “Dean.” He looked towards Benny and motioned toward the other side of the bed.  _ Yeah,  _ Benny thought,  _ definitely bad. _

Dean was face down in the bed and didn’t move, but Sam knew he's awake. “We got a hit. Facial recognition gave up a name and a list of known associates.” Sam glances at Benny and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “It was Alastair, Dean. I'm sorry.”

Dean’s face went white. His hand squeezed the pillow, and it took every effort for him not to scream. He’d done enough of that already. He swallowed thickly and nodded. He was pissed now, more than anything. Yeah, things were going to Hell, if they weren't there already.

 

* * *

 

Cas was blindfolded and bound, he knew this as he slowly roused in the back of a pickup truck. There was a boot on his neck keeping him in place. “Can't kill you just yet, but it don't mean I've to deliver you pristine.” A voice slithers above him. The same boot kicked him once, and he passed out again.

 

* * *

 

Sam watched as his brother got up and left the room, closing his eyes as Dean passed. Benny tipped his head back and mutters a soft curse. Dean grabbed his towel and wash bag, and headed towards the showers, his two shadows didn’t follow.

A shower, shave, and change of clothes later, he walked towards the briefing room. It had been repaired for the most part and put back to order. Dean looked through the new information that had been tacked up in the interim regarding Cas and his kidnappers.

There was work to do to figure out how to fix this mess. Dean started looking through the files laid out as others entered the room. Dean didn’t bother looking up as he just stared at the photo of Cas included in the papers in front of him.

_ I’ll fix this. _

 

* * *

 

“Well, aren't you a pretty thing?” A hissing voice said from the dark. “No wonder he likes you.”

Cas turned his blinded eyes towards the voice.

“Zaz saw you two at Fahhas and Hudid. I was going to take the younger Winchester, but you presented something more delectable.” The voice was closer now.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Cas croaked.

“Of course you don't.” The voice laughed.

 

* * *

 

It had been hours scouring through what information they had. Ash and Kevin were still combing through things they had access to (and stuff they didn’t). Sam sat across from Dean, with Colonel at his feet.

“We have to do something.” Dean finally said.

“Dean?” Sam asked, as Benny had gone to find out any updates, and talk to Bobby.

“We need to find him and get him back. This was my fault. Dammit, Cas! You should've listened to me.” Dean’s head fell and his shoulders hunched.

“This wasn't your fault, Dean. And furthermore, his fate doesn’t rest with you.” Sam said emphatically.

“Well, thank God,” He said sarcastically, “because then he’d be screwed.” Dean sighed. “I can't do it, Sam. It's too big.” His voice lowers to an almost whisper. “Alastair was right, I’m a coward. I'm not all here right now, Sammy. I'm not—I'm not strong enough. I guess I'm not the man our dad wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me. I can’t be point.” Dean took one more look at Cas's photo, and left.

 

* * *

 

It's been two days. Two days of Dean in his room, barely eating. Two days of him listening to some of the most depressing rock music anyone had ever heard. He was acting like a melodramtic teenageer, but considering the fact that Dean Winchester had previously seemed deathly allergic to emotions, this was an overcompensation in the worst way. Benny had described it as a dam breaking, letting all those “chick flick moments” through at one time. Garth said the teddy bear had broken loose. Sam looked at them both like he was going to stab them with a spoon. This wasn’t his brother, Dean wasn’t one to give up.

“I had no idea AC/DC could be so sad.” Isaac said, hearing _ Ride On  _ blare through Dean’s door for the dozenth time that day.

Lee nodded, “Yeah, and he's really pulled out the catalog. At least he's not playing soft rock because...” The track changed to to something softer and more melancholic _.  _ “We need to find him before Dean gets too far down the musical rabbit hole.” The men knew what was going on, but left their commander for the time being. 

Dean, on the other hand, didn't really know what to do with himself. He knew that he was acting like some broken hearted emo kid, but they had no leads, no nothing. He didn't know where Cas was, if he was alive, and Dean couldn't bury himself in vats of whiskey, so he just sat there. He sat on the bed, just listening to music. Better than torturing himself with photos of Cas and those he couldn’t kill right now to get the journalist back.

_ " _ _ The echoes and silence, patience and grace/And all of these moments I'll never replace... _ _ " _ Dave Grohl sings as the tears well up over Dean’s loneliness.   
  


* * *

 

“Dean!” Benny screamed as he barreled down the hallway a few hours later. “Dean!” He flung open the door.

Having fallen asleep, he turned over to look at his best friend. “What is it?” His voice hoarse from disuse.

“They sent a video.”

 

* * *

 

Dean stood behind Kevin and Ash as they played it again.

The  ransom video was released to Al Jazeera a little while ago, they'd already watched it a few times for analysis.

The axe is held over bound and gagged Cas like they are going to behead him. There's a copy of the New York Times from this morning next to him. 

Even though their faces are covered, and the audio is in Arabic, Dean knows it's Alastair. They ask for outlandish claims that are all smoke and mirrors, nothing they actually want. This isn't a video for anyone else but Dean.

Cas's head is yanked up, so his eyes are visible to the camera. His blue eyes were tired and dull, one was nearly swollen over. His face is battered and bruised, and yeah, this was definitely a message for Dean. Taunting him, and there's nothing he could do about it, or at least that's what he first thought.

“Well, you aren't as smart as you think you are, asshole.” Ash said, pulling up some advanced software that was not exactly standard military issue. There were a few other men in the video, Ash and Kevin were able to identify them as Azazel, Gordon Walker, and Edgar Martinez. The last of whom was a former soldier who was once on the protection detail of Congressman Richard Roman. It was a stretch by some accounts, but with the aid of the somewhat illegal skills that Ash had, they could make a connection that could be brought to Bobby.

It was something, and hopefully enough to find Cas before it was too late.

 

* * *

 

Alastair stepped forward to a bound Cas holding a glass of water, “You know, only a few of us can hold onto our real selves long enough to discover the real truths about ourselves and this whirling earth to which we cling. This is especially true in war. The Greek god Mars attempts to blind us when we enter his realm, and when we leave, a generous cup from the waters of the Lethe to drink.” Alastair took a sip and then offered it to Cas, “Thirsty?”


	9. Welcome to My Nightmare (Alice Cooper)

Catatonic would be the best description for Dean at the moment. He stared at the freeze frame of Alastair's covered sinister sneer as he pulled Cas’s head back, grazing a knife over his throat… like the axe wasn't enough.

There's a self deception to war that propels people forward, keeping them moving. When it falls away, harsh reality sets in. The raw brutality and lies make people crumble. At this moment, Dean was no different. He had pretty much broken down. He couldn't even cry anymore. No more breaking things, no more music. He was just silent as he sat in the computer room with Ash and Kevin as they worked. He had been there for hours at this point. Not moving. Not talking. Just watching.

Victor had walked in at one point, and talked to them about what happened just before the kidnapping, he blamed himself, just like everyone, though not as much as Dean.

“Dick Roman?” Ash said. Victor nodded. “Hmmm…”

10 minutes, and a few hacked accounts later, “You know, he should really pick passwords that aren't stupidly easy. And who would seriously pick ‘no#1Dick’? I mean, come on?!” Kevin said, pulling up email accounts for Congressman Roman.

“Well, that’s new.” Ash said, and Dean stood up for a closer look to the monitors. Email after email between Roman and several less than savoury individuals were pulled up on the screens. Though there was no direct contact, through a chain of hacked email accounts and private servers, they were able to find a link and reference to Cas. 

“Gotcha!” Kevin shouted. Ash whooped as the two high fived.

Bobby had been clued in on their discoveries not too much later. He swore so much, that it made Benny blush. The general wanted Roman’s head, as well as few others, but knew they couldn't do anything without risking Cas's safety. They were going to wait until they knew there was no danger to the journalist.

Dean nodded, and dragged every bit of detail to the conference room. There was at least a place to start in coming up with a rescue plan. Regardless of how smart the kidnappers thought they were, they were no match for the combined IQ of at least 400 between the two techies. In addition, Ash and Kevin were working with a mutual non-military friend of theirs at the CIA, who was nicknamed “the Queen of Moons”. No one ever got an actual name from the pair, and all were somewhat afraid to ask considering the amount of digital damage the three of them could do.

A few hours later, they had a location. “God Bless Moondoor.” Ash whispered with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Dean holed himself in the briefing room with every stitch of intel they had. Cas was being held Kadarasto, which was just over 10 klicks from the bunker. Alastair was definitely taunting them. He was playing with Dean, but he wouldn't have long to gloat, as Dean was already planning a mission to save Cas.

Not much later, Sam walked in with some food for his brother. He was looking over Dean's shoulder, and taken aback by the resources he had planned to use.

“Dean. Dean.” The elder Winchester looked up. “This is crazy. We can’t risk everyone for one person.” Sam said, trying to remain calm.

“It’s not a choice between moral and immoral, Sammy, it’s between immoral and less immoral. And at this point, I don’t fucking care how you label it. I don’t care, we’re going to get him.” Dean said, fuming.

Sam jaw set and he looked at Dean, “‘All my means are sane, my motive and my objective mad.’ Sound familiar, Dean? Except he was going after a white whale.”

“We can't just fucking leave him there, Sammy! Did you not see the fucking video?! They had an axe. They had him bound and gagged with a fucking axe looming over his neck like they were going to chop it off!” Dean was beyond emotional at this point. Sam knew it, but he also knew that there was no force in this universe that would stop Dean from saving Cas.

Sam wasn't blind. He knew there was something there, something he'd never seen in his brother before. Call it a profound bond or true love or whatever the fuck you wanted, but there was no way Dean was going to leave Cas to any fate that awaited him in Alastair’s hold. The plan was consuming, yes, but Sam knew that even in his current state, Dean was a master tactician. The plan would work.

Sam sighed. “He wouldn’t want you to do this, you know, but fine, Dean. Let's go get your  _ boyfriend _ .”

Dean didn't even blink at the remark and just nodded, then left the room.

It was at that moment, when Dean didn’t protest the word choice that Sam knew things were beyond fucked up at the moment. Dean’s rational was gone. Sam quietly prayed to every deity in existence, just hoping they weren't too late.

 

* * *

 

He'd been held hostage before, beaten, starved, but this was new. Cas had never been tortured.

In moments like this, Cas seemed to shut down and go back to his detached self. It was a defense mechanism for sure, but one where he could find comfort and solace from the pain.

Cas stared at  Alastair as he sharpened another knife. “‘Those who believe that God himself, once he became man, could not face the harshness of destiny without a long tremor of anguish should have understood that the only people who can give the impression of having risen to a higher plane, who seem superior to ordinary human misery, are the people who resort to the aids of illusion, exaltation, fanaticism, to conceal the harshness of destiny from their own eyes. The man who does not wear the armour of the lie cannot experience force without being touched by it to the very soul.’”

His captor just looked at him with a dark grin. “You’re calling me a monster by using some very eloquent words that are not your own. Nevertheless, it’s somewhat accurate. But now it’s my time for stolen prose: ‘ society in  wartime becomes atomized . It  rewards personal survival skills and  very often leaves those with  decency and  compassion trampled under the rush.’ So, I’m truly just doing my best to enact Darwinism.” Alastair grinned.

He turned to Castiel and started with barely there cuts that stung when they broke the skin of his chest. “It’s addicting, you know, war, violence, destruction. There’s this overwhelming wave of ferocity that turns us in what you’d consider thugs or murderers, though I prefer the more poetic terms like devils or demons. This tide multiplies our strength with the fear, madness, and greed of life from which we feed.” Blood trickled slowly. “Except, I don’t seek and deliverance, just torment that I can breed.”

“You don't care about this cause, Alastair. You just want your thirty pieces of silver.” Cas said through a mouth full of blood. 

Alastair's laugh is hollow and cold. “You call me a traitor? How can one be traitor when the only loyalty they have is to themselves. Everything else is ephemera. All I care about is the pain. I can carve my beliefs into anyone I want regardless of faith. In the end, they all belong to me.”

 

* * *

 

Cas did his best not to scream as Alastair worked. His captor isn't even asking for information, he just hums to himself as he pulled different instruments from a nearby rusty cart. 

Cas’s eyes started to glaze over, as Alastair put a needle back on the cart with his other tools. Heaven knew what was in there.

Alastair said, “Let me know if you want some more. There's plenty left.” He wiggled the syringe.

Cas ground his teeth and spit out his words, “Go directly to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.” And spat blood in Alastair’s face.

Alastair just smiled, not even bothering to wipe his face. He held up a knife that was buried in a rotted wooden box. “There's that little pig-poker. I wondered where it went.”

 

* * *

 

No one was left in the bunker, the entire team agreed to follow Dean. The rescue mission wasn't exactly authorized, as Ash sent through the request when they were leaving. “Better late than never.” He said with a smile.

Things were tense, though, especially with Dean. They rode in silence in the night until they were about a klick from the location, and went the rest on foot. Ash and Kevin were able to loop what monitor feeds they found.

There were three four-man teams: Dean, Sam, Ash, and Lee. Benny, Garth, Cesar, and Ross. Victor, Deacon, Isaac, and Kevin. The compound where Cas was being held was a nondescript building, a bit too modern for the town, but not entirely out of the ordinary. It was meant to not call attention to itself, and it did a good job.

There was a high fence, but no barbed wire, they made cuts at three points and made their way inside. There weren't any floodlights, just small exterior ones that were easy to keep away from. Three entrances, front, back, and side, would be hit simultaneously, but without force.

The locks were picked quickly and quietly after the few outside guards were dealt with, and Dean didn’t give a shit if they were left alive.

Dean’s breach team had the side entrance, closest to where they thought Cas might be held in the basement. They were able to disable two more guards, before gunfire rang out somewhere. “Shit.” Dean breathed, and moved a little faster towards the basement door.

 

* * *

 

Azazel was dead, Dean shot him point blank. Edgar had been knocked unconscious and bound by Victor. Gordon was probably getting his ass handed to him by Benny. They had cleared both above ground levels, by the time Dean’s team hit the basement. There were a few rooms, and all but one was secure.

It was the last room in the complex, and only Cas and Alastair were unaccounted for.

Dean closed in on the shut door, as he heard the rickety wheels of a loaded cart being rolled across uneven floors, and the clang of chains against a cement wall. The noises were then drowned out by raspy, off-key singing from a voice that made Dean’s blood run cold.

“ _ Heaven, I’m in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek… _ ” Alastair then laughed. “ I'm sorry, Castiel. This is a very serious, very emotional situation for you. I shouldn't laugh, it's just that—I mean, are they serious? They sent Dean Winchester to rescue you?”

Suddenly everything stopped. Castiel’s eyes went wide for a brief moment, before they rolled up and his eyes shut from the pain. 

“Come in, Dean, I know you’re out there.”

Dean kicked the door open and raised his gun ready to fire, but stopped a hair’s breadth before he pulled the trigger. Castiel was bound to the wall covered in bruises, burns, and cuts. The sight made Dean want to throw up. Alastair was nowhere in sight, confusing Dean until he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed to his skull.

“You think I'll see all your scary men with your toys and surrender? Or spill my guts with all the secrets I hold?

Dean stared straight at Cas. “Oh, you'll spill your guts, Alastair, one way or another. I just don't wanna ruin my shoes. I finally broke them in.. Now let Cas go.”

“Oh, Cas is it?” He said with glee. “Or what? You'll work me over? You don’t have it in you, besides, I’m thinking you're scared at the moment anyway.”

“I'm here, aren't I?” Dean said, his voice even.

“Not entirely. You left part of yourself back in the Pit, when you were in his place.” He motioned towards the unconscious Castiel. Dean was internally screaming, but he had to wait until the rest of the team catches up and finds him. He prayed that someone was close.

“You're gonna be disappointed.” Dean said.

“You have not disappointed me so far. Come on. You gotta want a little payback for everything I did to you. For all the pokes and prods. Hmm?” Dean stood there impassive, trying not to rise to the bait. He just needed to get to Cas. “Now it's your professionalism that I respect.” Alastair hissed in his ear. “When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn this earth down, we'll owe it all to you, Dean Winchester. If you hadn’t reported me, well, we wouldn’t be here. Believe me, son, I wouldn't lie about this. It's kind of a religious sort of thing with me.”

Dean closed his eyes, trying not to react. He could only stall so long at this point before he started freaking out. “No. I don't think you are lying. But even if that happens, you won't be there to see it.” 

Dean turned around swiftly, knocking the gun away as he moved. Alastair punched Dean, who went down from the hard right cross. Alastair loomed over the soldier, grinning maniacally. Dean’s face was a bit bloody, as he tried to pull himself up on his hands and knees. Alastair reached down and grabbed him by his shirt collar and punched him repeatedly, then dropped him and picked him up by the throat and shoved him up against the wall.

“You got a lot to learn, boy. So I'll see you back in class bright and early Monday morning.” Alastair started to squeeze Dean’s neck further, but suddenly Sam came out of nowhere with a knife. Alastair moved to block, dropping Dean in the process, to focus on Sam. The younger Winchester growled as he stabbed Alastair in the chest. The terrorist looked down, as if it’s nothing. “Well, almost. Looks like God is on my side today.”

Alastair grunted in pain and pulled out the knife, then tossed it away and charged Sam. They fought. Alastair slammed Sam against the wall, choking him.

He snarled at the young soldier. “Like roaches, you Winchesters.” Alastair then stopped abruptly, as he’s hit from behind as a gunshot rings out in the enclosed space, his body then fell to the floor. Sam slumped to the ground, but was still alert. Dean stood over Alastair with a smoking gun.

Dean turned towards Sam, who was just a bit banged up, and his little brother waved him off even before he moved. Dean immediately rushed to Castiel. The man was passed out and bleeding from various gashes all over his body.

“Cas, Cas. Please wake up, please be okay.” Dean said, holding the battered man’s face. Sam was busy unchaining Castiel, while Dean readied himself to catch him.

Cas sank down into Dean’s arms, while Dean cradled him and slowly rocked the unconscious man. “It's gonna be okay, Cas. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna wake up, and everything is going to be just fine. You just gotta wake up. You gotta open those pretty blue eyes of yours and wake up.” Dean kept whispering softly, until Garth and Isaac came rushing in.

They all but pried Cas from Dean’s grasp and set to work. Sam sat next to his brother on the ground and held him as Dean stared at Cas’s unconscious form and did his best not to cry.


	10. Don’t Wait - Acoustic (Mapei)

Ernest Hemingway once described having seen his soul when he was wounded during The Great War. It was a fine, white handkerchief drawing out of his body and floating away and then returning. For Castiel, it felt like a big grey parachute just hanging there, waiting to decide. It felt foggy, like being underwater or something. Cas gingerly tried to move, but couldn't. He did open his eyes slowly and briefly to find that it was way too bright. The room smelt clean, sterile, and like antiseptic. 

He was in a hospital. 

He was alive.

“Cas. Castiel. Can you hear me?” A voice spoke softly from next to the bed. Cas turned his head and slowly opened his eyes. His vision cleared as he blinked to see a warm, familiar smile.

Kali sat next to the bed, tears flowing freely, “Castiel, thank God.” She hugged him gingerly. “They told me it'd be any time today, but I still was so worried.”

Cas's brow furrowed, “What?” His voice was rough from disuse.

Kali pulled back to look at her almost brother-in-law, “They put you in a medically induced coma after surgery to help with the healing. It's been nearly a week. I literally ran out of the hospital once they contacted me. Thank goodness, my passport was up to date.”

Cas looked even more confused, “Where?” He whispered.

“Rammstein Air Force Base. You're in Germany. They airlifted you here from Afghanistan.” Kali wiped the hair from his forehead.

“Where's Dean?” Cas looked slowly around the room.

“Who?” Kali said questioningly.

Cas sighed and laid back, closing his eyes.  _ Where was Dean? _

 

* * *

 

Horns, sirens, and general chaos reigned outside of the Beer Authority across from the New York Times Building. Cas had just returned last night, and work was the first stop. Well, beer and a burger with Balthazar, then work. He’d been laid up in Germany for what felt like forever until they let him return stateside.

“Sorry I'm late, Cassie.” Balthazar said, giving Cas a hug before he sits down. “Thank goodness you're okay. I was so frightened. Kali and I kept trading phone calls through the whole ordeal. You look good though.”

“Good for a torture victim?” Cas said gruffly.

“Castiel.” Balthazar said, resting his hand over his friend’s. “I'm glad you're alive. Don't be like that. I can't begin to imagine the horror, but you still being here and those bastards dead… I owe that group of Rangers more than anything for saving my best friend.” Cas just nodded solemnly.

The waitress came over and took their orders and returned not much later with their food. The interim was just filled with details of Cas's recovery and treatment.

“You're not going back, are you?” Balthazar asked, spearing a French fry.

“You spend long enough in war, there is this moment of fever pitch, it's kind of like a high. It's a fatal and seductive embrace. Ancient Greeks called it  _ ekpyrosis _ , and used it to describe heroes. It means to be consumed by a ball of fire.” Cas took a sip of beer, “I'm not a hero and I'm afraid of fire. So, no, Balthazar, I'm not going back.”

There was a sad smile on Castiel's lips, but a relieved one on Balthazar's as he looked at his friend. “Eloquent as always.” Cas just shrugged and ate some fries.

“So,” Balthazar turned the conversation back to work, “it's going to be a spread in the Sunday Times, I've already discussed it with Chuck. And I also heard rumors regarding a book deal from Penguin, Random House, and Macmillan. I'm sure others will follow. You can talk to Hannah about that, though.” Chuck Shurley was their boss, as well as the editor-in-chief of the NY Times, and Hannah Carroll was Cas's agent.

Cas just nodded.

Balthazar took a sip of his beer, “Have you heard from Dean?”

His friend was the only person Cas told about the Major, not everything, but enough to matter.

“No.” Cas said, taking a bite of his burger.  _ Nothing. _

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later, just before he left New York, the story broke regarding Congressman Richard Roman, who was complicit in supplying government secrets to known terrorists. He was charged with treason, amongst other violations, Constitutional and otherwise. As it turned out, he wasn't the only one implicated, Lilith Boecher, the junior senator from California, who happened to be a former lover of Azazel.

Their motives were deemed classified, so no one beyond the court knew the reason they went after the 401st and Castiel, though he had an inkling that there was some modicum of revenge involved.

Regardless, it looked as if things were soon to settle down, as Cas's name was slowly ebbing it's way out of the spotlight. This also had to do with the fact that beyond the spread in the Times, Cas refused any further press. He wanted the story gone.

Most attributed it to PTSD, which he let people think, but it wasn't. It's true that Cas was still dealing with the aftermath of his time in captivity, amongst a whole other host of psychoses, but none had to do with his desire to disappear from the limelight.  

His real reason was Dean.

Cas first tried to get in contact with him when he was at Rammstein recovering those first few weeks. Nothing.

He tried again once he was stateside, but was road blocked. He even tried getting a hold of General Singer, but was ignored. Cas even considered trying to find Eileen Winchester, Sam’s wife, but felt that was too far. So he gave up after nearly two months of nothing.

 

* * *

 

It'd been six weeks by the time he was discharged from the various hospitals that he moved to Chicago to live with Kali. She didn't say anything when they arrived at the house. Cas just went up to his room and slept… for about a week.

After that, it was mostly Cas on the couch and cooking for her. Kali was the only family Cas really had left, and though unorthodox, they made it work. For the first time, Cas wasn't running.

Cas sat up in bed, the clock read 2:32 AM on the nightstand. He sighed, and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. It was hard readjusting to civilian life. He was basically coming down from a decade’s long high. After something so brutal and exhilarating - both good and bad - it's hard to find that thrill. He wondered, and somewhat hoped, that in time it would slip away and become like everything else, distant. Life here was dulled, but he prayed that wouldn't be permanent. When addiction turns sour, one can only feel spoiled and spent. Despair soon follows.

His therapist, Pamela Barnes, was helping Cas sort things out. She told him early on that she had a patient who was an ex-Marine. He would say that he always felt that ghosts followed him. She asked if that worried him, and he laughed. “No, it's cool because the motherfucker was behind me. It's when he goes and moves up front that you're in a world of hurt.”

Cas knew it was a metaphor, which is how he found himself not much later, in front of the boxes kept packed away in the closet for years. Next to him was a bottle of whiskey, though that wasn't exactly medically prescribed.

It took him days to even gain the courage to open the first box, but once he did, it was as if a dam had burst. Kali came home from a 72 hour shift to see the room decorated for the first time ever. The stalwart physician cried more than Cas.

It was by no means permanent, but it was a start.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Cas was sat at home on a Friday night. Kali had a date, the first once since Gabriel, and Cas was more than encouraging. Despite the odd name, Baldur Croasdell (though with a name like Castiel, he kept his mouth shut), was a decent guy. He was an attending at Cook County, alongside Kali. Cas had met him a few times, and Baldur even asked Cas's permission, which was unexpected and unnecessary, but appreciated.

“Are you sure you're fine with this?” Kali asked, putting in a earring, as she was all but ready to leave.

“I'm fine. I've got some Netflix to catch up on, I'm starting a show called  _ Psych _ this evening, and I ordered a pizza. I'm good, Kali. Enjoy your evening.” Cas smiled earnestly, as she left.

He sighed and sat down on the couch with a beer and the remote. Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang as Cas shuffled over with money for the delivery boy. He pulled the door open to reveal Dean… holding his pizza.

They stood there in silence for a moment. “I caught him on the way up. I already paid for it.” He paused, scratching the back of his neck with the free hand in a familiar gesture. “Hey Cas.”

Cas was in silent shock. He hadn't heard from or seen Dean in months, not since Afghanistan, not since before he was captured, and now here he was at the door clad in boots, worn jeans, a plaid shirt, and Cas's missing AC/DC shirt. There was glint of a black car in the driveway.

“That my shirt.” He said without thinking.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I… um… kinda took it when Sam packed up your stuff to ship back. Sorry, I just…” Dean shifted feet, and closed his eyes with a sigh. “I--” He started again just to get cut off.

“It's been nearly four months, Dean. Where were you?” Cas was angry, yet seeing Dean in that shirt,  _ his shirt, _ sparked something. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. I missed you in Germany... they actually had to pry me away when we found you and sedate me, not one of my proudest moments… I was going to come see you, but I was too busy getting court martialed. But I guess that's what you get when you run off half cocked into a terrorist stronghold to rescue someone and kill the bad guy instead of capturing him. Only reason I'm honorably discharged instead of prison is ‘cause of Bobby.” Dean trailed off trying to find the courage.

“Someone?” Cas offered, his hand clenched white, holding the door for support in more ways than one.

“Someone…” He took a breath and stared at Cas straight on, “...someone that destroyed every preconceived notion I ever had about myself. Someone who gripped me tight and pulled me from perdition, a Hell I didn't even realise I was in half the time.” Dean swallowed and stared straight at Cas. “Someone I’m ridiculously in love with that I never even got to kiss.”

Cas moved swiftly, grabbing Dean and pulling him close. The pizza immediately fell to the floor. Their lips crashed together in a mixture of need, want, and fury. They had danced around each other for what seemed like eternity, and they finally found one another. Dean moaned as he pulled Cas closer, one hand buried in his hair, the other wrapped tightly around his waist. He started walking Cas backwards into the house. The reporter’s hands were holding Dean’s face as their mouths didn’t disengage once.

Dean kicked the door shut, and found himself subsequently slammed against it. Cas kissed Dean harder, his hand moved from Dean’s face to his hips, most likely bruising them. Dean just moaned in response.

Cas shifted his leg in between Dean’s splayed bowlegs. The taller man started to grind against Cas, as they were both already half hard.  

“Dean.” Cas moved from Dean's lips and started moving along the clean shaven jaw and down the taller man’s neck.

“Fuck.” Dean breathed and tipped his head back towards the door to grant Cas better access. Taking the invitation, Cas pressed against Dean even harder while trying to strip him of the plaid over shirt.

It took a minute for Dean’s brain to catch up with what was going on, and reluctantly moved his hands from grabbing Cas's butt pulling him closer, to stripping off his top layers.

Cas pulled back to watch as his pupils dilated and he licked his lips. Dean gave the man a cocky smile. “See something you-- oof!” Cas dove straight back into Dean’s lips. His hands touched flesh and kept moving.

His fingers skirted Dean’s nipples, “Fuck, Cas!”

Cas leaned up to Dean’s ear, “I was thinking the other way around first, to be honest.”

At that, Dean pushed Cas forward, grabbing Cas's hips. “Bed? Where?” Cas smiled as grabbed Dean's hand leading him upstairs.

Dean pressed up against Cas's back digging his erection between the shorter man’s ass cheeks. Dean licked the shell of Cas's ear and spoke, “Next round is going to be me fucking you into the mattress, but right now I want you in me so fucking bad, Cas. Make me scream your name.”

Cas shivered at the prospect and couldn't move fast enough. He stumbled over the threshold of his bedroom, as Dean closed the door behind them. They stood there for a moment just taking each other in. Pure lust flowed between them that had been built up over the course of their relationship that was finally going to be acted upon.

“Next time, you can do this.” Dean said as he started unbuckling his own belt. Cas nodded as he striped himself. Once they were down to nothing, Cas grabbed Dean by his ass and pulled him flush. Both their breaths hitched.

“You took too long.” Cas said diving in for another kiss.

He lead Dean backwards and fell upon the bed, dragging the former soldier with him. Dean braced himself on his forearms when he fell, so not to crush Cas. Hands were still on the taller man’s butt, as Cas spread his cheeks, trailing a finger across Dean’s hole.

“Fuck, please.” Dean said as he started leaving hickeys on Cas's neck.

“I need to grab the lube. It's in the nightstand, Dean.” Cas said breathily as their elections slide against one another.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean said sounding drunk, as he climbed over Cas, which was either the worst or best mistake at that moment. Cas opened his mouth and licked the dick that was hanging right in his face. “Cas!” Dean hissed out, his hand latching on the bottle.

Cas took Dean fully into his mouth, and slowly flipped them over, as Dean was lost in the sensation. Cas also grabbed the bottle from Dean’s hand and uncapped it.

With fingers appropriately wet, Cas started to breach Dean’s tight entrance. Lost for words, Dean could only moan in pleasure. It wasn't long until Cas was four fingers deep, mercilessly fucking Dean with them, hitting his prostate every so often.

“I swear to fucking God, if you don't stick your cock in me right now, I'm going to use that green dildo I saw in the draw and not even let you watch!” Dean growled.

Cas smiled predatorily and opened the condom that Dean had grabbed as well. He rolled it on with one hand as he leaned over Dean and spoke, “Now we can't have that, especially since I'm sure that you wouldn't enjoy it as much.”

“At this point -- ah!” Dean sighed as Cas pressed forward finally.

“I'm going to have so much fun with all the things I can do to you, Dean. You've no idea.” Cas said quietly as he bottomed out.

“That better be a promise.” Dean said, catching blue eyes.

They stared at one another for a moment, the haze of lust temporarily clear, “Always.”

 

* * *

 

Both of their heart rates began to settle, though neither had the desire to move, despite the cooling semen on Dean’s body.

They were quiet, but the air was still thick. It was no longer heady due to sexual tension, but there were things that needed to be said.

For some reason another Catullus verse came to mind, the last one feeling like an eon ago at his brother’s grave. 

__   
_ If anything grateful or pleasing to silent tombs _ __   
_ is able to happen from our grief, Calvus, _ __   
_ by which longing we renew old loves and _ __   
_ we weep for the long departed friendships,  _ __   
_ certainly her untimely death is not such great grief _ _   
_ __ for Quintilia as she rejoices from your love.

 

There was no more war, no more threats of anything. To survive as a human being, it is only possible through love. That's when Cas thought back to the kitchen, so many nights before that it seemed like a different lifetime. “What do you think of Kansas?” 

Dean was a bit confused, but said the first things that came to mind, “I was born there.”

Cas knew this, of course. He also gathered that now Dean was for all intents and purposes retired, he didn't have much planned. Cas didn't either, but that never stopped him from speaking up regardless, “We should get a house there. Maybe raise some bees, or cats, or dogs, or kids.”

Dean turned to look at Cas, who steadily returned the gaze. There was no hesitation in his words or eyes. Dean wasn't stupid, he knew what Cas was asking. Dean hadn't had a real home since he was four, and Cas hadn't had one nearly as long. This should have been a scary prospect for both, yet it wasn't. It was the easiest thing he'd ever done.

After a pause to just stare at the man he slowly fell in love with, Dean responded. “I'm allergic to cats, but the other three sound like a good plan.”

The grin that spread across Cas's face was blinding. Dean smiled just as big.  _ Awesome. _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed this. I spent a lot of time on it, and really enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I live for kudos and comments!  
> Check out my tumblr too: freckles-n-feathers.tumblr.com
> 
> Art links: (thanks again to my artist!)  
> Tumblr: http://t-eyla.tumblr.com/post/152288641303  
> AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8376871
> 
> You can also buy me a coffee if you enjoyed this, but don't feel obliged. :)  
> http://ko-fi.com/A0554W9


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